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CUPID OF CAMPION 






“l)rag^{?in^ Clarence close to the fire, the woman beoan to 
scriititiize the lines on his paliu." — l*<i<je (>G. 



CUPID 

OF CAMPION 


BY 

FRANCIS J. FINN, S.J. 

Author qf “TomPlaufair," "pjcy Wynn," "Harry Dee," 
^^Clavde Lightfbot,^^ etc. 



New York, Cincinnati, Chicago 

BENZIGER BROTHERS 

publishers op benziger’s magazine 


1916 


Copyright 1916 by Benziger Bbothers 



OCT i6 lafe^ 


©CI.A4388‘J1 

Iaa.'} I . 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I P 

In which Clarence Esmond places himself in the hands 
of the Bright-eyed Goddess of Adventure, and entrusted 


by that Deity to the care of a Butcher’s Boy .... 9 

CHAPTER II 

In which the Steamer St. Paul and a tramp lend their 
aid to the Bright-eyed Goddess 18 


CHAPTER III 

In which Clarence and his companion, the Butcher’s 
Boy, discourse, according to their respective lights, on 
poetry and other subjects, ending with a swim that was 
never taken and the singing of Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay for 
the last time 28 

CHAPTER IV 

In which Clarence Esmond, alone and deserted, tries to 
pray; and his parents defer their trip to the Coast . . 45 

CHAPTER V 

In which Ben, the gypsy, associates himself with the 
Bright-eyed Goddess in carrying out her will upon Master 
Clarence Esmond, and that young gentleman finds him- 
self a captive 58 

CHAPTER VI 

In which Clarence meets Dora, learns much of his gypsy 
companion, fights Ezra, and is sung to slumber ... 69 

CHAPTER VII 

In which the strange tale of Dora, another victim of the 

Bright-eyed Goddess, is told to Clarence 89 

5 


6 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER VIII PAGK 

In which Clarence enters upon his career as a gypsy, 
and makes himself a disciple of Dora 100 

CHAPTER IX 

In which Clarence gets some further knowledge of a 
shrine, which has much to do with the most important 
events of this veracious narrative, and pays back the 
gypsy, Pete, with compound interest !•€ 

CHAPTER X 

In which Clarence engages in a swimming race, and to 
the consternation of Dora disappears in the waters of the 
Mississippi 118 


CHAPTER XI 

In which John Rieler, of Campion College, greatly dar- 
ing, goes swimming alone, finds a companion, and acts 
in such a manner as to bring to Campion College the 
strangest, oddest boy visitor that ever entered its portals . 126 

CHAPTER XII 

In which Clarence relieves the reader of all possible 
doubts concerning his ability as a trencherman, and the 
Reverend Rector of Campion reads disastrous news . .135 

CHAPTER XIII 

In which Clarence as the guest of Campion College 
makes an ineffectual effort to bow out the Bright-eyed 
Goddess of Advenure 141 


CHAPTER XIV 


In which Clarence tells his story and gets the Reverend 
Rector to take a hand against the Bright-eyed Goddess .147 


CONTENTS 


7 


CHAPTER XV 

In which Clarence begins to admire Campion College, 
and becomes the room-mate of a very remarkable young 
man, as the sequel will clearly show 164 


CHAPTER XVI 


In which the Bright-eyed Goddess comes to bat again, 
and promises to win the game 170 


CHAPTER XVII 

In which one surprise follows so closely upon the heels 
of another that Masters Esmond and Rieler lose power 
of speech and Will Benton strikes a blow which will live 
forever in the traditions of Campion College .... 182 


CHAPTER XVIII 


In which there are a joyful return, a sad duty and a pic- 
nic, ending with a reunion of loved ones 195 


CHAPTER XIX 


In which John Rieler fails to finish his great speech, and 
Clarence is seriously frightened 207 


CHAPTER XX 

In which there is another joyful reunion, and Clarence 
presents an important letter to the Rector of Campion 
College 215 


CHAPTER XXI 

In which everybody is happy. Will Benton is jocose, and 
justifies the title of this Romance of the Upper Missis- 
sippi 228 



CUPID OF CAMPION 


CHAPTER I 

In which Clarence Esmond places himself in 
the hands of the Bright-eyed Goddess of Ad- 
venture, and entrusted hy that Deity to the 
care of a Butcher's Boy, 

A morning early in September, the sun 
was shining brightly upon the village of 
McGregor. Nestled in a coulee between two 
hills, one rising squarely and rock-ribbed, lack- 
ing only the illusion of windows to give it the 
appearance of a ruined castle, the other to the 
northwest, sloping gently upwards, and 
crowned at the summit with a number of villas, 
McGregor, running down to the Mississippi 
River, was as pretty a town as Iowa could 
boast. 

On this bright particular morning, an over- 
grown youth was sitting on the boat-landing, 
his feet dangling above the water, his face 
glooming darkly. Master Abe Thompson, age 
sixteen, was troubled in spirit. 

He was homeless. He had lost his position, 
that of a butcher’s boy, just a little after sim- 
9 


10 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


rise. It arose out of a difference of seventy- 
five cents in the butcher’s accounts. Abe had 
been told under penalty of having “his face 
shoved in” never to darken the doors of the 
butcher-shop again. At the tender age of 
twelve Abe had left his home unostentatiously 
and without serving notice, and ever since had 
spent his time in losing jobs up and down the 
river. The trouble with Abe was that he never 
could resist “obeying that impulse,” no matter 
what that impulse might be. He had been 
blessed, if one may say so, with an obedient 
mother and an indifferent father. The dis- 
cipline of the public school which Abe was sup- 
posed to attend might have done something for 
the boy had he been present for so much as six 
days hand-running. But Abe had early made 
a successful course in the art of dodging duty. 
He was by way of joining that vast army of 
the unemployed who are the ornament of our 
country roads in summer and of our back alleys 
in winter. Abe was entitled to graduate with 
honors in the ranks of those who have learned 
the gentle art entitled “How not to do it.” At 
the present moment Abe Thompson was in 
darkest mood. His soul just now was fit for 
treasons, stratagems, and spoils. His gloomy 


CUPIB OF CAMPION 


11 


eyes moved vacantly over the waters shimmer- 
ing in the sun. Suddenly his air of listlessness 
disappeared, his eyes grew tense. Among the 
boats around the landing was one small skiff 
riding high on the water, in which (for some 
people will be careless) lay a pair of oars and 
a paddle. 

Abe was still gazing at this boat and its con- 
tents with greedy eyes when there came upon 
his ears the sound of a sweet, piercing soprano 
voice, giving, to whoso should wish to hear, the 
ineffable chorus of an almost forgotten music- 
hall melody : 

“Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay, 
Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay, 
Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay, 
Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay !” 

Abe turned to discover coming blithely 
down street — ^the one street running through 
McGregor — a gay lad of about fourteen 
years of age, dressed in an immaculate 
white sailor-suit. The approaching youth was 
walking, skipping, and jumping in such wise 
that it was hard to define what he was doing at 
any particular moment. He was rather small 
for his years, but apparently of muscle all com- 


12 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


pact. Gracefulness characterized his wildest 
and most impetuous motions. He was a per- 
fect blonde, and his hair, bobbed after the 
fashion of little girls of ten or eleven, gave him 
a somewhat feminine aspect, further em- 
phasized by his cream-and-rose complexion. A 
close observer, studying his pretty features, 
might indeed have inferred from his tip-tilted 
nose and his square chin that the youngster was 
not safely to be treated as a mollycoddle. Abe 
was not a close observer. 

“I say,” he broke out, as the pretty boy drew 
near, “what sort of a lingo is that you’re giving 
us? You don’t call that American, do you?” 

“Good morning, fair sir,” replied the boy, 
raising his sailor hat and bowing elaborately, 
“may I have the pleasure of your acquaint- 
ance?” 

“YTiat lingo was that you was a-singing?” 

“The language, fair sir, of adventure.” 

Abe frowned, and spat into the river. 

“Permit me,” continued the newcomer, “to 
introduce myself. I have the honor of inform- 
ing you that my name is Clarence Esmond. 
What is yours?” 

“I’m Abe Thompson. What are you looking 
for this morning?” continued Abe, as he noticed 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


13 


that Clarence was gazing longingly at the craft 
moored at the river’s edge. 

“Who? — ^me?” queried the debonair youth. 
He drew himself erect, threw back his head, 
raised his eyes, and with a dramatic gesture 
continued: “I am looking for the bright-eyed 
goddess of adventure!” 

“Oh, talk American!” 

“I will, gentle youth. I am looking for fun ; 
and if something happens, so much the better.” 

“Do you want to go anywheres?” 

“I want to go everywhere. I’d like to be on 
the ocean, running a liner; I’d like to be a cow- 
boy, dodging Indians; I’d like to be a soldier 
in the trenches, and a sailor in a submarine. In 
fact, I’d like to be everywhere at the same 
time.” 

“You can’t do that, you boob,” said Abe 
with strong disfavor on his rugged face.” 

“I am one of those fellows,” continued 
Clarence, “who wants to eat his cake and have 
it.” 

“Oh, jiminy!” roared Abe, breaking into a 
loud laugh, “you want to eat your cake and 
you want to have it at the same time?” 

“That’s it exactly. I want to eat my cake, 
and at the same time have it.” 


14 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


“Oh, jiminy! Why, do you know what you 
are?” asked Abe laughing with conscious 
superiority. 

“Won’t you please tell me?” 

“Why, you are an idiot, a plumb-bom idiot.” 

“Oh, am I?” and as Clarence asked the ques- 
tion his face beamed with joy. 

“You sure are.” 

“I suppose,” continued Clarence, “that you 
think I am one of those chaps who hasn’t got 
enough sense to come in out of the rain when it 
is raining.” 

“You’re the dumbdest idiot I ever met,” said 
the frank butcher’s boy. 

“I guess you are right,” assented the lad 
beamingly. “Lots of people have told me I 
am an idiot. And I never do come in out of 
the rain when it is raining. I use a cravenette.” 

“Oh, Lord!” cried Abe, all his cmde humor 
stirred to scornful laughter, “what an awful 
ass you are!” 

“Thank you so much,” answered Clarence 
glowing with delight. “It’s a pleasure to meet 
a fellow who says just what he thinks.” 

“Any more like you at home?” 

“I happen to be the only child,” answered 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


15 


Clarence. “I am the light of my mother’s eyes. 
There are no others like me.” 

‘T should say not! Say, who let you loose?” 

‘‘That reminds me,” said Clarence, his smile 
leaving him. “I’ve got to be back at noon, and 
it’s nearly eight-thirty now. Say, do you know 
this river?” 

“I should say I do. Do you want me to row 
you?” 

“Is there any place around here worth see- 
ing?” 

“Sure! Pictured Rocks! Everybody goes 
there. It’s a mile down the river.” 

“Suppose I hire a boat, would you mind act- 
ing as my guide — salary, fifty cents?” 

“I can do better than that,” said Abe, becom- 
ing all of a sudden obsequious. “That’s my 
boat down there — that little boat with the oars 
— and I’ll take you to Pictured Rocks and 
bring you back for one dollar. That’s fair 
enough, ain’t it?” 

Abe was young and his imagination unde- 
veloped. Had he been older, he would have 
tried to sell the boat and a few houses nearest 
the river bank, all together, for a slightly 
larger sum. 


16 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


‘‘That’s a go!” cried Clarence, running for 
the boat, jumping in and seating himself to 
row. “Come on quick. Cast off, old boy.” 

The boat was locked to a post. Abe was ac- 
customed to facing such difficulties. He broke 
the lock imder Clarence’s unobservant eyes, 
and, shoving the skiff off and jumping in, 
seated, himself in the stern. 

“You row and I’ll steer,” he said, as he 
picked up the paddle. 

Clarence dipped the oars into the water, and 
with a few strokes the two started down the 
river with the swift current. It was a beauti- 
ful morning, clear and crisp. The river, a vast 
lake in width with islands and inlets and 
lagoons and streams between the Iowa and the 
Wisconsin shores, was dancing in th^ sunlight. 
Birds, late though the season was, made the air 
gay. On the Wisconsin shore the solemn hills, 
noble and varied, stood sentinel over the smil- 
ing valleys of golden grain which ran almost to 
the river’s banks; on the Iowa side, a twin 
range came down almost to the water. The 
river was clear and, despite the current, had all 
the appearance of a vast lake. 

The air and the sunshine and the scenery 
entered into Clarence’s soul. 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


17 


“Hurrah!” he cried, brandishing an oar. 
“All aboard to meet the bright-eyed goddess of 
adventure 1” 

And the bright-eyed goddess was not deaf to 
the summons of the thoughtless lad. The god- 
dess was awaiting him. The meeting was to be 
very soon, and the interview a long one. And 
it is because of the meeting that this veracious 
story is written. 


CHAPTER II 


In 'which the Steamer St. Paul and a tramp 
lend their aid to the Bright-eyed Goddess. 

“T SAY,” observed Abe presently, “You can 

^ row some !” 

“What do you think I’ve been going to 
school for?” retorted the dainty youngster, as 
with even and strong stroke he sent the boat 
flying down the current. 

“What are you giving us? There ain’t no 
rowing-schools.” 

“It may be, fair sir,” answered Clarence, 
“that there be no schools with that precise 
name; at the same time, I don’t mind telling 
you that for the past three years I’ve been at- 
tending Clermont Academy in New York 
State, a young gentleman’s hoarding school, as 
the prospectus says, where for the trifling sum 
of nine hundred dollars a year, cash in advance 
semi-annually, I have learned to play handball, 
baseball, football, lawn tennis, basket-ball, 
hurdling, shot-throwing, swimming, skating, 
and a few other little things like that.” 

18 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


19 


“You call that a school?’’ exclaimed Abe, his 
large nose curling in disdain. 

“Everybody calls it a school,” answered 
Clarence, blithely, “even the babes in their 
mothers’ arms.” 

“What about readin’, ’ritin’ and ’rithmetic?” 
continued the incredulous steersman. 

“Oh, we’ve got all that, too ; if we want that 
sort of thing. We can’t be running and jump- 
ing all day, you know.” 

“That’s a measly school,” continued Abe. 

“Awful sorry you don’t like it. Of course, 
you don’t have to come.” 

“No school for me,” said Abe emphatically. 
“Say, why ain’t you at school now?” 

“Because my ma and my pa are over here 
visiting. They’re going West as far as the 
coast, and my pa’s taking me along so’s he’ll 
know me next time he sees me. And my ma 
says she’s real anxious to make my acquaint- 
ance.” 

“You don’t mean to say you don’t know 
your own pa and your own ma?” cried the 
scandalized Abe. 

“Well, I haven’t seen ’em ever since I was 
eleven. A boy changes a good deal in three 
years. My ma didn’t change so much. But 


20 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


she says she’d hardly know me. I say, this 
river' looks fine! How is it for swimming?” 

“Mighty bad,” answered Abe, his power of 
invention beginning to stir. “If you don’t 
know this river, you’re just as like as not to get 
drownded. It looks all right,” continued the 
young vagabond, warming up to his theme; 
“but it’s full of sink-holes and places that suck 
you down. Don’t you ever go in this river im- 
less you know some one who can show you a 
safe spot. You see that little house there, with 
the red roof?” 

“It appears to me I do.” 

“Well, the other day, three guys who didn’t 
know nothing about this river went in swim- 
ming just in front of it. All three went down, 
and they never come up nq more.” 

“What!” cried Clarence, resting on his oars 
and losing something of his color. 

“Yes, sir,” Abe affirmed, regretting now that 
he hadn’t made it six or seven boys. “And 
their fathers all came here to see what could be 
done, and one of them went in and he was 
drownded too. It’s a mighty dangerous river 
in these parts.” 

“That settles it,” said Clarence, resuming his 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


21 


rowing with a sigh. ‘‘I’ll not take the swim 
to-day that I promised myself.” 

“Oh, I can fix that,” said Abe, “I know a 
place right down by Pictured Rocks where a 
hen wouldn’t mind swimming; it’s so safe. Oh, 
look!” he continued, “here comes the St. Paul.” 

“What? Where?” cried Clarence, once more 
relinquishing the oars and craning his neck. 
“By George! That’s worth seeing. Where is 
it from?” 

“From St. Louis. It’s a passenging boat 
and is going to St. Paul.” 

The approaching steamboat, just turned a 
bend, was quite near them. 

“Aha!” cried Clarence, picking up the oars 
and becoming melodramatic. “There she is ! I 
can see her. Somewhere, Master Abe, in that 
boat is the bright-eyed goddess of adventure, 
and I’m going to meet her.” As he spoke he 
set vigorously to rowing out towards mid- 
stream. 

“Say, you boob,” roared Abe, dropping his 
paddle in dismay: “You’re going to get run 
down. Do you want to get drownded?” 

“Not at all. Now just sit tight, don’t rock 
the boat, and let me do it all by myself. We’re 


22 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


going to shoot right across her bow. You just 
leave it to me. We can do it easily.” 

They were now quite near the steamer and 
it looked to Abe, as it looked to the captain 
of the boat, as though the little craft were al- 
most certain of being rim down. Abe fell back, 
his cheeks grew white, his teeth chattered; he 
turned his face from the approaching vessel. 
Meantime, there was a whistle, a clanging of 
bells, and hurried movements on the St. Paul. 
As the forward deck filled with excited pas- 
sengers, the steamboat came almost to a full 
stop; observing which Mister Clarence, who 
had been rowing with all his might and main, 
lessened his efforts most perceptibly, and gazed 
enquiringly at the big boat. 

“Say, do you know, Abe, I believe that 
boat’s in trouble ? Maybe they want our help.” 

Abe sat up and once more took notice. 

“You young jackass!” roared the captain 
leaning as far as it was safe over the deck. 

“Which one of us do you mean, sir?” asked 
Clarence. 

“F ou, gosh blame you ! Y ou, drat your hide ! 
If there were more idiots on this river hke you, 
I’d give it up and take to farming. I’ve 
stopped my boat on your account.” 


CUPID OF CAMPION 23 

“Go right ahead, sir. I didn’t want you to 
stop.” 

Clarence beamed kindly on the captain, 
smiled upon the passengers, and doffed his cap. 
There came a cheer from the deck, Clarence 
hummed “Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay,” and present- 
ly the two adventurers had the river to them- 
selves. 

“He said you were a young jackass,” said 
Abe presently. 

“Yes, I noticed.” 

“Well, you are.” 

“Why, I could have made that easily. There 
was no danger at all. He had no business to 
stop that old boat of his. I didn’t ask him to. 
And then he goes and calls me names.” 

“He said you were an idiot,” pursued Abe. 

“That’s nothing. I’ve heard that before. 
Nearly all my friends say things like that to 
me.” 

“I’ll not go rowing with you again, you big 
boob.” 

“You’ll not get the chance. I’m off for the 
Coast at noon-time.” 

“Here we are,” cried Abe presently, steer- 
ing towards the shore. “This is the place that 
leads up to Pictured Rocks.” 


24 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


“Hurrah for Pictured Rocks!” shouted 
Clarence, bringing with a few swift strokes the 
boat well up on the beach. “And what are 
Pictured Rocks anyhow?” 

“The folks round here,” answered Abe, as 
he took the oars from the boat and carefully 
hid them in the undergrowth near the shore, 
“calls ’em Pictured Rocks, because the rocks 
up this here hill instead of being white like 
other rocks is in layers of red and orange and 
blue and all sorts of colors between, and they 
says that the Injuns used to come here and use 
the stuff of the rocks for war-paint.” 

“Well,” said Clarence, blithely turning a 
few cartwheels on reaching the bank, “I’m 
ready for your Pictured Rocks. Do you think 
I’ll find the bright-eyed goddess of adventure 
amongst them?” 

“I dunno. Come right along ; we can get up 
there in about fifteen minutes.” 

But the bright-eyed goddess of adventure 
was nearer than Clarence fancied. She took, 
on this occasion, the guise of a tramp, who, 
making his way along the railroad ties of the 
Chicago, Milwaukee, and St. Paul towards Mc- 
Gregor and chancing to see a youth in a white 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


25 


sailor-suit, thought it worth his while to pause 
upon his weary journey. 

Abe led the way. He passed the tracks un- 
noticed by the road adventurer. Clarence, 
pausing at every other step to take in the view, 
presently followed. 

“Say, young feller, could I say a word to 
you?” 

“Make it a dozen, while you’re about it,” 
answered Clarence, gazing at the long-haired, 
unshorn, shabby, middle-aged man before him. 

“I ain’t had nothing to eat since last night. 
Could you spare me a dime?” 

“With pleasure,” responded the youth, tak- 
ing out as he spoke a handful of coin, selecting 
a quarter and handing it over to the himgry 
one. 

The sight of money brings a strange light 
into certain eyes. The tramp’s were of that 
kind. 

“You’re carrying too much money for a kid. 
Give me some more,” he said. 

“Skiddoo! Hump yourself!” yelled Abe 
from a safe distance. 

Clarence was looking hard at his new ac- 
quaintance. There was no mistaking the glint 


26 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


in the fellow’s eye. The beggar had developed 
into the highwayman. 

“Excuse me!” said Clarence, and turning 
tail he dashed down the track. 

The tramp had a good pair of legs in ex- 
cellent condition from much travel. He was 
quick to the pursuit. 

“Run faster!” roared Abe, content to give 
advice. “He’s catching up.” 

Clarence had a start of nearly ten yards; but 
before he had gone far, it grew clear to him 
that his pursuer was no mean runner. Nearer 
and nearer drew the tramp. The race could 
not last much longer. 

Suddenly Clarence stopped, whirled around, 
and before his pursuer could realize the turn of 
events, plunged through the air, landing with 
both arms about the astounded man’s knees. 
The tramp went down with a suddenness to 
which few men are accustomed, and, assisted 
by a quick shove from the boy’s agile arm, 
started rolling from the tracks down an incline 
of some fifteen feet. By the time he had arisen 
to a sitting posture below and passed his hand 
over the several bruises on his head, the boy 
was back with Abe and lustily making his way 
up the hillside. 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


27 


The tramp saw him po more ; but as he rose 
to resume his wearied journey, he heard a 
blithe voice far up the hillside carolling forth: 

‘ ‘ Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay, 

T a-ra-ra-boom-de-ay, 

T a-ra-ra-boom-de-ay, 

- Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay !” 


CHAPTER III 


In which Clarence and his companion, the 
Butcher's Boy, discourse, according to their 
respective lights, on poetry and other subjects, 
ending with a swim that was never taken and 
the singing of Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay for the last 
time, 

rr\ HAT was great,” said Abe, enthusiastical- 
ly, as he led the way up a steep and wind- 
ing path. “You dished that feller easy. How 
did you do it?” 

“I just tackled him.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Don’t you know anything about football?” 

“Naw!” 

“Well, when a chap on the other side has the 
ball and is running up the field with it and you 
want to stop him, you make a dive at his knees 
and clasp your arms right above ’em; and the 
faster he’s going, the harder he’ll fall.” 

“I’d like to learn that game,” remarked Abe 
with some show of enthusiasm. 

“What a nice little stream that is,” con- 
tinued Clarence, waving his hand towards a 
28 


CUPIB OF CAMPION 


29 


tiny streamlet beside their upward path. “I 
like the sound of running water, don’t you? 
There ought to be a waterfall somewhere about 
here.” 

‘‘There is; it’s furder up.” 

“Are you fond of Tennyson, Abe?” 

“Eh? What’s that? Another game?” 

“He’s a poet.” 

“A what?” 

“A poet : he writes verses, you know.” 

“I don’t read nothin’.” 

“Well,i listen to this: 

“ ‘I come from haunts of coot and hern, 

I make a sudden sally 

And sparkle out among the fern 
To bicker down a valley!’” 

“Sally is a girl’s name,” said Abe, whose 
brows had grown wrinkled from concentrated 
attention. 

“I don’t think you quite got the idea of those 
lines,” said Clarence suavely. “But just listen 
to this: 

“ ‘I chatter, chatter as I flow 
To join the brimming river; 

For men may come and men may go, 

But I go on forever.’ ” 


30 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


“Say that again, will you?” 

Clarence obligingly and with some attention 
to elocution repeated the famous stanza. 

“Who said that?” asked Abe. 

“Tennyson.” 

“What was he chattering for?” 

“He wasn't chattering ; it was the brook that 
chattered.” 

“Well, why didn’t he say so, then? He said, 
^I chatter/'' 

“Oh, hang it! He put those words into the 
mouth of the brook.” 

“But a brook ain’t got no mouth.” 

“Yes; but he put himself in place of the 
brook. He just imagined what the brook 
would say, if it could talk. Listen once more.” 
And for the third time and still more melo- 
dramatically Clarence gave voice to the quat- 
rain. 

“Tennysee was a fool. The idea of a feller 
taking himself to be a brook. Why, if he was 
a brook, he couldn’t talk anyhow.” 

“Abe, you’re hopeless.” 

“See here, don’t you call me no names.” 

“You’re a literalist!” 

“You’re another, and you’re a liar!” 

“Oh!” cried Clarence, gurgling with delight. 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


31 


“here are the Pictured Rocks, sure enough. 
And a cave!’’ 

Beside the stream, a vast bed of rocks in 
veritable war-paint, hollowed at the centre into 
a rather large cavern, greeted the eyes of the 
astonished youth. The colors in horizontal 
layers were gay and well-defined, red being 
predominant. 

“This is where the Injuns used to come for 
their paint,” explained Abe, forgetting his 
grievance in the pleasure of being a cicerone. 
“They used to come down this path and daub 
themselves up, and then cross the river to 
Wisconsin, and shoot the Injuns on the other 
side with their bows and arrers.” 

Clarence was examining the surface of the 
rock. It was easy to rub away the outer part 
of the soft layers. 

“Say, Abe, let me paint you. I think you’d 
make a fine Indian.” And Clarence with a 
handful of red sand sprang smilingly at his 
guide. 

“You go on and paint yourself,” growled 
Abe, backing quickly. As a result, he missed 
his footing, slipped and fell into the tiny 
stream, where he sat for several seconds before 
it occurred to him to rise. 


32 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


“Ha, ha, ha!” screamed Clarence. His 
silvery laughter, clear and sweet, was caught 
up by the echoes and came back translated into 
the merriment of elfland. 

Much as the echoes seemed to appreciate his 
burst of glee, it did not appeal at all to the 
wrathful guide. His face had grown red as a 
turkey-cock’s ; his fists doubled, and he was on 
the point of assaulting the unsuspecting 
Clarence. 

“Oh, hark, oh, hear!” cried Clarence with a 
gesture and in a voice so high and ringing that 
Abe was startled, and paused in the execution 
of his revenge. . 

“Did you hear ’em?” 

“Hear what?” 

“The echoes. They’re the horns of elfland, 
you know.” 

“The what!” exclaimed Abe. He had a 
dread of the unknown, word. 

“The horns of elfland faintly blowing.” 

“You’re blowing yourself. Here you” 

Abe stooped, picked up a small twig and 
placed it on one shoulderband of his blue over- 
alls — “Knock that chip off’n my shoulder!” 

Clarence surveyed his offended companion 
severely. 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


33 


“Abe, come on; let’s go up. You know, I 
owe you a dollar. If you were to put one of 
my beautiful blue eyes into mourning, I think 
I’d claim that dollar for damages and then 
where would you be?” 

“Well, then, you stop using them big 
words.” 

“All right, Abe.” 

With an occasional shout to set the wild 
echoes flying, the two pursued their steep up- 
ward way. For the most part, there was no 
conversation. 

When they reached the waterfall, nothing 
would do Clarence but at the risk of life and 
limb to get under the hollow rock, over which 
fell the water in a wide but thin stream, and, 
extending his head and opening his mouth, 
catch what drops he could as they fell. 

“Abe!” he suddenly said, “I think I know 
now where the goddess of adventure lives.” 

“Eh? What?” 

“If ever I wish to communicate with that 
bright-eyed lady, I’ll address my letters thus : 

“ ‘To the Goddess of Adventure, 

The Bright-eyed Waterfall, 
Pictured Rocks, 

Iowa,U. S.A.’” 


34 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


“You drop that goddess of adventure. I 
don’t believe in no such foolishness as that.” 

“All right, Abe, if you don’t beheve in her, 
she doesn’t exist. Now for the top.” 

Up they went, with quick steps and, as re- 
gards Clarence, steady breathing. Abe was 
puffing. Loose living had reached out into the 
future and gained for him the “far off interest 
of years.” Abe belonged to that steadily in- 
creasing class of Americans who, growing up 
without recognition of any law of God or mar 
are destined to be short-lived in the land. 

Presently, they were at the summit. 

“Look,” cried Abe, his sulkiness yielding 
momentarily to a spark of enthusiasm. He led 
the way forward a few feet and paused. 

“Oh-h-h-h-1” cried Clarence. 

Far, far below, the river rolled its flashing 
length, the broad river, silvery in the sun, the 
broad river with its green wooded islands, its 
lagoons, its lesser streams, its lakes. To the 
southeast another body of water, yet more 
silvery, emptied itself into the Mississippi. 
Beside both and around both and all the way 
that eye could see up and down the Mississippi 
River rose the full-bosomed hills, older than the 
Pyramids, holding their secrets of the past in 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


35 


a calm not to be broken till the day of judg- 
ment. Between the hills and the river, on the 
Wisconsin side, lay the valley, rich in golden 
grain, dotted here and there with granary and 
farm-house. It was in very deed a panorama 
beautiful in each detail, doubly so in its variety. 

“What river is that?'’ asked Clarence. 

“What! Don’t you know that? I thought 
from the way you were talking that you knew 
everything. That’s the Wisconsin River.” 

“You don’t say! Why, that’s where Mar- 
quette came down. Think of that, Abe. Mar- 
quette came down that river and discovered the 
upper Mississippi. He must have passed right 
near to where we’re standing.” 

“I’ve been roimd this river all my life, and 
I never heard of no Marquette. Who was he?” 

“He was a priest.” 

“A Catlic?” 

“Yes, and a Jesuit.” 

“I hate those dirty Catlics,” growled Abe, 
spitting savagely. 

Behold, gentle reader, Abe’s religion. He 
hated Catholics, and in doing so felt conscious- 
ly pious. He belongs, it must be sadly con- 
fessed, to the largest church in the backwoods 
of America ; the Great Unlettered Church. So 


36 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


worldly a thing as a railroad has been known 
to put their rehgion to flight. 

“I’m not a Catholic myself,” said Clarence, 
losing for the moment his light manner, “and 
I believe they’re superstitious and away behind 
the times; but I don’t hate them. Anybody 
who reads books knows that there have been 
splendid men and women who were good 
Catholics. A Church that has lived and kept 
fully alive for nineteen hundred years is not to 
be sneezed at.” 

“Sneezed at! What do you want to sneeze at 
it for? What good would that do? We ought 
to blow it up.” 

“My son,” said Clarence, raising his head, 
tilting his chin and assuming a paternal air, 
“I’m beginning to despair of you. A moment 
ago, you remember, I said you were a literalist. 
Well, it’s worse than that. You’re a pessi- 
mist.” 

At this Abe broke into a torrent of profani- 
ty. In this particular sort of diction he showed 
a surprising facihty. 

“Excuse me, friend,” said Clarence, “for 
breaking in upon your exquisite sohloquy ; but 
would you mind telling me what that big build- 


CUPID OF CAMPION 37 

ing over there in the distance is? It seems to 
be across the river from McGregor.” 

“That,” said Abe with some imction in his 
tones, “Is Champeen College.” 

“Champeen College?” 

“Yes, the Cathcs are trying to run it, but 
them guys doesn’t even know how to spell it. 
They leave out the H. I saw their boat — a 
fellow told me about it — and sure enough they 
didn’t have no H.” 

Clarence pondered for a few moments. 

“Look here,” he said presently. “Perhaps 
you mean Champion College.” 

“That’s just what I said; Champeen Col- 
lege.” 

“You say Champeen; you mean Champion.” 

“That’s what I’ve said all along — Champeen 
College.” 

Again Clarence reflected. 

“Oh!” he said, breaking into a smile, “I think 
I’ve got it. Leaving out that H you have 
Campion College. That’s it. I’ll bet; and 
Campion was a wonderful Jesuit priest, 
famous in history and novel. He died a 
martyr.” 

Hereupon the butcher’s boy proceeded to 


38 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


express his sentiments on the Jesuits. He de- 
clared them at some length and with no little 
profanity. 

“I think,” observed Clarence calmly, when 
Abe had stopped more for want of breath than 
of language, “that it’s about time to start 
down, if we want to have that swim. Be good 
enough, gentle youth, to lead the way.” 

Their descent was along another roadway, 
south of the one by which they had come up. 
In parts, the path was so steep that it was dif- 
ficult to keep one’s foothold. 

Abe led sullenly. He was deep in thought. 
The problem of beginning life again was 
facing him, beginning hfe with one pair of 
ancient overalls, a shirt, a jack-knife, shoes that 
had seen better days, and, in prospect, the 
handsome sum of one dollar. There was no 
question of his beginning hfe at McGregor. 
There confronted him, indeed, a difficulty, ap- 
parently insurmountable, in showing his face 
there at all. Abe figured to himself an irate 
boat-owner waiting at the landing for the 
person who had had the boldness to take away 
his skiff. How, then, he reflected, could he 
collect his dollar, get Clarence back, and escape 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


39 


unobserved. One plan would be to land below 
McGregor and let Clarence go the rest of the 
way alone. But even that plan had its risks. 
Doubtless, there were boatmen on the river 
even now in quest of the missing craft. Much 
thinking was alien to Abe’s manner of life; 
continuous thinking, impossible. He left the 
solution in the lap of the gods, therefore, and 
started conversation with his companion. With 
Abe, language was not the expression of, but 
rather an escape from, thought. So he gabbled 
away, going from one subject to another with 
an inconsequence which bridged tremendous 
gulfs of subject. 

In an unhappy moment, he became foul in 
his expression. He did not, by reason of being 
in the advance, see the blush that mantled his 
companion’s face. 

“Suppose you change the subject,” said 
Clarence, giving, as he spoke. Master Abe a 
hearty shove with both arms. 

If dropping the subject entirely is equiva- 
lent to changing it, Abe was perfectly obedient. 
At any rate, he certainly changed his base ; and 
before the words were well out of Clarence’s 
mouth, Abe was sliding down the steep incline 
at a rate which would have outdistanced the 


40 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


average runner. He went full thirty feet be- 
fore a friendly stump brought him to a pause. 

‘‘Look here,” cried Abe, remaining seated 
where he had come to a stop, and rubbing him- 
self ; “What did you mean?” 

“You aren’t hurt, are you?” enquired the 
sailor-clad youth, drawing near and really look- 
ing sympathetic. 

“Hurt!” echoed Abe, rising as he spoke “I’m 
sore; and,” he continued as he craned his neck 
to see what had happened to his clothes, “my 
overalls is torn.” 

“So they is,” assented Clarence, his love of 
mischief once more in the ascendant. “How 
much are those overalls worth?” 

“I paid eighty-five cents for them.” 

“Very good. I’ll give you two dollars in- 
stead of one. Is that all right?” 

“Suppose you pay me now,” suggested Abe, 
holding out his hand. 

“No you don’t,” answered Clarence. Our 
young lover of adventure was not of a suspici- 
ous disposition; nevertheless it was plain to 
him that Abe, once he had the money, would, 
as like as not, either attempt to take revenge 
for the indignities shown him, or desert at once 
and leave his charge to shift, as best he might. 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


41 


for himself. In fact, it would be just like Abe 
to refuse the further services of the boat. 
“We’ll take our swim first, and then when 
we’re on the boat and in sight of McGregor I’ll 
pay you the two dollars. 

Still rubbing himself, and muttering savage- 
ly under his breath, Abe led the way down. 
The descent was soon accomplished, and 
presently the two boys were disrobing. 

“My ma told me that I might take a swim 
this morning,” remarked Clarence, “provided 
I went in with some person who knew the river 
well, and who could show me a good place. Do 
you know the river and how to swim well?” 

“I guess I do. Why, I know this river by 
heart.” Here Abe paused, gazed carefully at 
the boat, and suddenly brightened up as 
though some happy thought had found lodg- 
ment in his primitive brain. “And look here,” 
he continued impressively, “I want to show 
you something. You see that place where my 
boat is?” 

“Seems to me I do.” 

“Well, going doxm the river from where that 
boat lays is the most dangerous spot you can 
find. It is a risk for the best swimmer — big 
men swimmers — to go in there.” 


42 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


“See here, I don’t want to go and get 
drowned,” protested Clarence. The young 
gentleman, having doffed his sailor costume, 
revealed to the admiring eyes of his companion 
a beautiful brand new bathing suit of heavenly 
blue, evidently put on for this occasion. Clar- 
ence had left home that morning prepared to 
go swimming. 

“Oh, you won’t get drownded; there’s a 
place up stream just a little ways that I told 
you about where a hen could swim. We can 
row up there in no time. Get in the boat, in 
the stern, and I’ll row you.” 

“As you say, so shall it be, fair sir,” and 
with this Clarence tumbled into the boat. 

“That’s it,” said Abe, encouragingly, as he 
proceeded to shove the boat into the water. 

“Hey! You’ve forgotten the oars,” said 
Clarence. 

For answer Abe continued to push the boat. 

“The oars! The oars!” cried Clarence. 

“You don’t need no oars,” shouted Abe as 
with a tremendous effort he sent the boat spin- 
ning out into the current. “Now, smartie, I’ve 
fixed you! You stay, right in there where you 
are, or you’ll be drownded sure.” 

The boat with its solitary occupant was now 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


43 


fully thirty feet from the shore. Clarence, pos- 
sessed of one single-piece swimming suit and 
nothing else in the world, turned pale with 
alarm. 

“What’s the meaning of this?” he cried. 

“There ain’t no meaning,” returned Abe, 
thoughtfully going through the pockets of 
Clarence’s sailor suit. “You just sit tight and 
maybe you’ll land in St. Louis by the end of 
the month.” 

“Look here, I’ve got to be back at McGregor 
by twelve o’clock,” remonstrated Clarence, 
“You’re carrying this joke too far.” 

“You’ll not see McGregor today, nor yet to- 
morrow,” answered Abe, grimly, as he wrap- 
ped up in Clarence’s handkerchief the paper 
money and the silver which he had found. 

Clarence noticed with dismay that his boat, 
now at least twenty-five yards from the shore, 
was going down the stream at what seemed to 
him a very rapid rate. 

In the meantime, Abe, having securely hid 
the money, stood on the shore and grinned 
triumphantly at the boy in the boat. 

“You will use big words, will you? You will 
try to be funny, will you? You will shove me 
down the hill ; you will come round here show- 


44 CUPID OF CAMPION 

ing off in your dandy clothes! Next time you 
get a chanst, you won’t be so smart — Now, 
what have you got to say for yourself?” 

The youth in the current saw that, so far as 
the butcher’s boy was concerned, his case was 
hopeless. In reply, then, to this question, he 
opened his pretty mouth, lifted his head proud- 
ly, and carolled forth: 

‘‘Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay, 
Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay, 
Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay, 
Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-ay !” 

As Clarence was singing, Master Abe, 
throwing out both hands in a gesture of de- 
fiance, suddenly bolted into the bushes. He 
was gone, leaving on the shore his own and 
Clarence’s clothes. 

The deserted youth in the boat came to an 
end of his singing. He had sung bravely to 
the last note. He never sang “Ta-ra-ra-boom- 
de-ay” again. Abe was gone: he was alone. 
Clarence at last gave in. He burst into tears 
and wept for some time in sore bitterness of 
heart. 


CHAPTER IV 


In which Clarence Esmond, alone and de- 
serted, tries to pray; and his parents defer their 
trip to the Coast, 

A FTER all, Clarence was but fourteen years 
of age. He was brave beyond his years. 
He had a craving for adventure. But, picture 
to yourself a lad in a thin blue bathing suit, in 
an oarless boat, alone on a great river. Clar- 
ence was really a good swimmer. He was at 
home in any lake ; he had disported many a time 
in the salt water ; but a river with its unknown 
dangers was new to him. The fear of the 
unknown, therefore, coupled with the warn- 
ing of the butcher’s boy, kept him in the 
boat, when in fact he could easily have made 
the shore. Adventure is all very well in its 
way, but one likes to meet that fair goddess 
with reassuring companions. N o wonder, then, 
that the boy broke down. 

For some minutes he continued to sob. His 
grief was poignant. Chancing to glance over 
the side of the boat, he saw his features, tear- 
stained and swollen, reflected in the clear 

45 


46 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


water. It was the first time that he had ever 
seen his reflection when he was in heavy grief. 
He looked again, and then suddenly broke into 
a laugh. 

“Never say die,” he muttered to himself, and 
forthwith, putting his elbows on his knees and 
his face in his hands, he began to meditate. 

What would his parents think about it? 
They would search, they would find his clothes 
upon the river bank and conclude naturally 
that he was drowned. Perhaps, however. Mas- 
ter Abe would reassure them on that point. 
Clarence did not know that Abe, having taken 
to the bushes and making his way into the inte- 
ror of Iowa, had already dickered with a farm- 
er’s boy for an old pair of overalls and was 
now doing his best to put as wide a distance 
between himself and McGregor as possible. 

Once more Clarence raised his head and 
looked about him. The sun was now in mid- 
heaven and, shining down upon the boy’s 
unprotected calves and shoulders, promised to 
leave the memory of that adventurous day in 
scarlet characters upon his tender skin. On 
one side flowed the Wisconsin into the 
Mississippi ; on the other the Iowa hills frowned 
down on him. The river itself was clear 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


47 


of craft. Water, water, everywhere; and 
standing sentinel over the mighty stream the 
hills of two sovereign states. Hotter and hot- 
ter fell the rays of the sun. 

“Lord, have mercy on me,” exclaimed Clar- 
ence. He really prayed as he uttered these 
words. 

Clarence, it must be confessed, knew very 
little of prayer. They did not specialize on 
that form of devotion — ^nor, in fact, on any 
form of devotion — at the academy of which 
for two years he had been a shining ornament. 
Vainly did he try to cudgel his brain for some 
other prayer. Even the Our Father, recited 
in tender years at his mother’s knee, he had 
forgotten. 

The sun grew hotter; it was getting almost 
unbearable. Clarence was driven to action. 
After some effort, in which he skinned his 
knuckles, he succeeded in dislodging one of the 
two boards serving as seats. Placing this next 
to the other, he threw himself below, doubled 
up so as to get himself as much as possible 
under the welcome shade, and — chappy mem- 
ory — murmured : 

“Now I lay me down to sleep, 

I pray to God my soul to keep : 


48 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


And if I die before I wake, 

I pray to God my soul to take.” 

In saying these homely but beautiful lines, 
our adventurer had no intention of courting 
slumber. Nevertheless, he was sound asleep in 
ten minutes. The incidents of the morning, 
the climb up the hill, the rowing, the brush with 
the tramp — all these things, combined with 
the fact that he had stayed up late the night 
before and had risen that morning at five 
o’clock, sent him into a slumber the sounder 
for the quiet and the freshness of the great 
river. 

^ ^ ^ 

About the same hour in which Clarence had 
snuggled low down in the boat and presently 
fallen into deep slumber, a gentleman came 
hurrying down to the McGregor boat-landing. 
He was a rather handsome man in the prime 
of life, dressed in a manner that showed he 
belonged to the many-tailored East. He was 
pulling at his mustache, gazing anxiously all 
about him, and betraying in many ways 
nervousness and anxiety. 

“Beg pardon,” he began, addressing a group 
of men and women who were waiting for the 
ferry-boat that plied between McGregor and 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


49 


Prairie du Chien, “but have any of you chanced 
to see a boy of fourteen in a white sailor suit 
about here? He’s my son.” 

“Did you say a white sailor suit?” asked a 
man of middle a^e. 

“Yes.” 

“Why, I think I saw a boy dressed that way 
this morning. As I was coming down the 
street, towards nine o’colck, I saw a boat going 
down stream with two people in it. First, I 
thought the one rowing was a girl; I took 
another look, and I could almost swear it was 
a boy dressed in white. They were gone down 
some distance, and so I couldn’t say for sure.” 

Just then a young man of about twenty-one 
dressed in flannels joined the group. 

“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said. “I’m 
a stranger here, and am rowing down the river 
from LaCrosse to Dubuque. This morning I 
locked my boat here, leaving the oars in it, and 
went for breakfast and a little stroll into the 
country back of McGregor. My boat has dis- 
appeared.” 

“Was it painted green?” inquired the flrst 
informant, “and did it ride rather high?” 

“Yes, that’s the boat.” 

“Well, the boat I saw, with, I thought, two 


50 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


boys in it, one in a white sailor suit, must have 
been your boat.” 

“Strange!” exclaimed Clarence’s father. 
“My boy, I am sure, would not do such a 
thing.” 

“What about the other boy?” said an old 
inhabitant. “There’s a no-account fellow here- 
abouts named Abe Thompson. He was the 
butcher’s boy and got fired early today. He’s 
disappeared this morning, too, and I’ll bet my 
boots that he’s the one who went off in that 
boat.” 

“That reminds me,” put in another member 
of the group. “When the St. Paul came in 
here this morning, the passengers were all talk- 
ing about a small boy rowing a boat up near 
Pictured Rocks, who tried to cross their bow. 
The Captain had to stop the steamboat and 
he said that the two boys in that boat seemed 
anxious to commit suicide. When th^ Captain 
roared at the oarsman and called him a jackass, 
the kid smiled and asked which one of the two 
he was speaking to.” 

“That was my son Clarence beyond a 
doubt,” said Mr. Esmond with the suspicion 
of a smile. “It would be just like him to cut 
across the bow of a steamboat, and that ques- 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


51 


tion of his makes it a dead certainty. The boy 
sat up until one o’clock last night reading 
Treasure Island. He’s very impressionable, 
and he left the house this morning with his 
heart set upon meeting with an adventure of 
some sort or other. It’s near twelve o’clock 
now, and we were to start for the coast at one- 
forty. Can’t I get a motorboat around here 
somewhere?” 

The man who had been the first to give 
information then spoke up. 

“Sir,” he said, “I have a fairly good motor- 
boat at the McGregor landing. It will be a 
pleasure for me to do anything I can to help 
you.” 

“Thank you a thousand times. Let’s get off 
at once. My name is Charles Esmond.” 

“And mine,” returned the other, “is John 
Dolan.” The two, as they made their way to 
the motorboat, shook hands. 

“This is awfully kind of you,” continued Mr. 
Esmond, as he seated himself in the prow. 

“It’s a pleasure, I assure you. I’ve really 
nothing to do at this season, and so I pass most 
of my time on the river.” 

As he spoke these words, the boat shot out 
into the water. 


52 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


“Now,” continued Mr. Dolan, “as a working 
hypothesis, we may take it for granted that 
those boys went to Pictured Rocks ; everybody 
goes there. So we’ll make for that place and 
reach it, I dare say, in six or seven minutes.” 

“I hope nothing has happened,” said the 
father. “This morning my wife had a bad 
sick headache, and Clarence was overflowing 
with animal spirits. We had promised him, 
the night before, a ride on the river and a swim. 
He had never been on the Mississippi, and he 
was all eagerness. To make matters worse, I 
got a telegram this morning to send on a report 
on a Mexican mine — it’s my business, by the 
way, to study mines here, in Mexico, and, in 
fact, almost anywhere. That report meant 
two or three hours of hard work. So I told 
Clarence to run out and get some good boat- 
man, if he could, and go rowing. I cautioned 
him to be careful about where he went swim- 
ming and not to go in alone. He promised 
me faithfully to be back at twelve. Now I 
have no reason to think the boy would break 
his word. In fact, I had an idea that he was 
truthful.” 

“You talk of your boy,” observed Mr, 


CUPID OF CAMPION 53 

Dolan, “as though you didn’t know him very 
well.” 

Mr. Esmond relaxed into a smile. 

“It does sound funny, doesn’t it,” he said. 
“The fact of the matter is that I really have 
very little first-hand knowledge of him. At 
the age of five, Clarence learned how to read, 
and developed a most extraordinary passion 
for books at once. If allowed, he read from 
the time he got up till he went to bed. I never 
saw such a case of precocity. It was next to 
impossible to get him to take exercise. His 
mother did her best to restrain him, and I did 
my share too, though it was very little, as I was 
away looking up mines nine months out of the 
twelve. When the boy was eleven, it became 
clear that some radical action had to be taken. 
I looked around for some school that would 
suit or rather offset his idiosyncrasy. After no 
end of inquiries I discovered Clermont Acad- 
emy in New York State, where athletics were 
everything and such studies as reading, gram- 
mar and arithmetic were a sort of by-product. 
Clarence has been there for three years, and, 
up to a week ago, his mother and I never saw 
him from the time of his entrance. Well, he’s 


54 


CUPIB OF CAMPION 


a changed boy. He is fairly stout, and mus- 
cular beyond my most sanguine hopes. He 
is up in all sorts of games. In fact, in his class 
— boys of twelve to fourteen — he’s the leader. 
All the same, I blush to say that I really know 
very little about my boy.’^ 

“Perhaps the lad is a genius,” suggested Mr. 
Dolan. 

“Some of my friends have made that claim 
and accused me of trying to clip his wings. All 
the same, I want my boy, genius or no genius, 
to grow up to be a hale, hearty man.” 

“Halloa!” exclaimed Dolan. He had turned 
the boat shoreward. Before the eyes of both 
lay in full view on the bank two suits of clothes. 
The boat had scarce touched the shore, when 
Mr. Esmond jumped from it and ran to the 
spot where the clothes lay spread upon the 
ground. 

“My God! These are my son’s,” he cried, 
gazing with dismay upon the white sailor suit 
\vhich he had caught up in his hands. His face 
quivering with emotion, he stood stock still for 
a moment, then sank upon the ground and 
buried his head in his hands. 

“And this,” said John Dolan, looking 
closely at the abandoned overalls, “belongs to 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


55 


that ne’er-do-well butcher’s boy. It looks bad. 
They must have gone swimming here.” 

Mr. Esmond arose and looked about. 

“Where’s that boat they had?” he inquired. 

“It may have drifted away,” answered John. 
“Or, more probably, that butcher’s boy, who 
is a known thief, has hidden it somewhere. He 
knew very well that there would be a search 
for it.” 

“Say, Dolan, you’ll stand by me, won’t you? 
I am almost in despair; the thing is so sudden.” 

“I’ll do anything you want.” 

“Well, you leave me here and run back to 
McGregor. Send word to my wife that I am 
detained — don’t let her think or even suspect 
that our boy is drowned — and to put off our 
trip to the Coast, as I cannot make the train. 
Tell her to expect me and Clarence before 
supper. Then get the proper officials of 
McGregor to come here at once and drag the 
river. Hire any extra men you judge fit. 
Don’t bother about expense. Now go and 
don’t lose a moment.” 

Left alone, Mr. Esmond made a careful 
search, tracing the boy’s steps in their ascent 
to Pictured Rocks. He went part of the way 
himself, crying out at intervals, “Clarence! 


56 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


Clarence! Clarence!” There was no answer 
save the echoes which to his anxious ears 
sounded far differently from the “horns of 
elfland.” 

Again and again he called. And yet Clar- 
ence was not so far away — hardly half a mile 
down the river, locked in slumber, and, as it 
proved, in the hands of that bright-eyed god- 
dess of adventure whom the reckless lad had 
not in vain wooed. 

Returning to the shore, Mr. Esmond on 
further investigation traced his boy’s footprints 
to the river’s banks. At this juncture, several 
motorboats arrived, each carrying a number 
of men, and soon all were busy dragging the 
river. 

At six o’clock John Dolan insisted on bring- 
ing the despairing father back to McGregor. 

“Dolan,” he said, as they started upstream, 
“have you any religion?” 

“I hope so. I’m a Catholic.” 

“I don’t know what I am; — but my poor 
boy! His mother ought to be a Catholic, but 
she was brought up from her tender years by 
Baptist relations with the result that she’s got 
no more religion that I have. When my boy 
was born, I started him out on the theory that 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


57 


he was not to be taught any religion, but was 
to grow up without prejudices, and when he 
was old enough, he was to choose for himself. 
All the religion he ever got amounted to his 
saying the ‘Our Father’ and ‘Now I lay me 
down to sleep.’ At that school he’s been going 
to there’s no religion taught at all. I wish I 
had done differently. Think of his appearing 
before a God he never thought of. Some of 
our theories look mighty nice in ordinary cir- 
cumstances. But now! My son is dead, and 
without any sort of preparation.” 

“We can pray for him; we can hope.” 

“Well, if his soul is saved,” said Esmond 
gravely, “it’s not because of me, it’s in spite of 
me.” 

When the bereaved father reached the hotel, 
the despair in his eyes told the tale to his wife. 
Let us drop a veil over that scene of sorrow — 
the sudden loss of an only child. 


CHAPTER V 


In which Ben, the gypsy, associates himself 
with the Bright-Eyed Goddess in carrying out 
her will upon Master Clarence Esmond, and 
that young gentleman finds himself a captive. 

T T WAS the time when the night-hawk, soar- 
^ ing high in air and circling wantonly, 
suddenly drops like a thunderbolt down, down 
till nearing the ground it calls a sudden halt in 
its fall, and cutting a tremendous angle and 
letting out a short sound deep as the lowest 
string of a bass violin shoots up into the failing 
light of the evening; it was the time when the 
whippoorwill essays to wake the darkening 
sky with his insistent demands for the beating 
of that unfortunate youth, poor Will; it was 
the time when the sun, having left his king- 
dom in the western sky, stretches forth his 
wand of sovereignty from behind his curtains 
and touching the fleecy clouds changes them 
into precious jewels, ruby, pearl, and amethyst; 
it was, in fine, the time when the day is done 
and the twilight brings quiet and peace and 
slumber to the restless world. 

58 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


59 


However — and the exception proves the rule 
— it did not bring quiet and peace and slumber 
to Master Clarence Esmond. In fact, it so 
chanced that the twilight hour was the time 
when he was deprived of these very desirable 
gifts ; for his sleep was just then rudely broken. 

First, a feeling of uneasiness came upon 
his placid slumbers. It seemed to him, in those 
moments between sleeping and waking, that a 
very beautiful fairy, vestured in flowing white, 
and with lustrous and shining eyes, appeared 
before him. She gazed at him sternly. “Oh, 
it’s you, is it?” murmured Clarence. “I’ve 
been looking for you, star-eyed goddess. Be 
good enough, now you’re here, to supply me 
with one or two first-class adventures in good 
condition and warranted to last.” In answer 
to which, she of the starry eyes extended her 
wand and struck her suppliant a smart blow 
on the forehead. As she did this, the light in 
her eyes went out, her form lost its outline, 
fading away after the manner of a moving 
picture effect into total darkness. 

Clarence’s eyes then opened; it was not all 
a dream — the loose board above him had fallen 
and struck him on his noble brow. Also, 
although his eyes were open, he could see very 


60 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


little. Almost at once he realized where he 
was. Almost at once he recalled, with the 
swiftness thought is often capable of, the 
varied events of the day. Almost at once, he 
perceived that the boat, no longer drifting, was 
moving swiftly as though in tow. 

Clarence sat up. There was a splashing of 
the water quite near the boat. He rubbed his 
eyes and peered into the gathering darkness. 
A brown hand, near the prow, was clasped to 
the gunwale. Then Clarence standing up 
looked again. From the hand to the arm 
moved his eyes; from the arm to the head. 
Beside the boat and swimming vigorously was 
a man, whom, despite the shadows of the even- 
ing, Clarence recognized as young and swarthy. 
They were rapidly nearing shore. 

“Say!” cried Clarence. “Look here, will 
you? Who are you?” 

The swimmer on hearing the sound of the 
boy’s voice suspended his swimming, turned his 
head, and seeing standing in what he had sup- 
posed to be an empty boat, a young cherub 
arrayed in a scanty suit of blue, released his 
hold and disappeared under the water as 
though he had been seized with cramp. 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


61 


The boat freed of his hand tilted very sud- 
denly in the other direction, with the result 
that the erect cherub lost his balance so sud- 
denly that he was thrown headlong into the 
waters on the other side. 

Simultaneously with Clarence’s artless and 
unpremeditated dive, the strange swimmer 
came to the surface. He had thought, as our 
young adventurer subsequently learned, that 
the figure in the boat was a ghost. But ghosts 
do not tumble off boats into the water ; neither 
do ghosts, when they come to the surface, blow 
and sputter and cough and strike out vigor- 
ously with an overhand stroke, which things the 
supposed ghost was now plainly doing. The 
stranger, therefore, taking heart of grace, laid 
the hand of proprietorship upon the boat once 
more. Clarence from the other side went 
through the same operation. 

“What did you spill me for?” he gasped. 

“I didn’t know anyone was in the boat,” 
returned the stranger with a slightly foreign 
accent. “When you stood up and spoke, I 
was plumb scared.” 

“I really think I’m rather harmless,” 
remarked the boy, blithely. “Never yet, save 


62 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


in the way of kindness, did I lay hand on any- 
body — ^well hardly anybody. Where are we 
anyhow?” 

“We’re on the Mississippi River,” returned 
the other guardedly. 

“Oh, thank you ever so much. I really 
thought we were breasting the billows of the 
Atlantic.” 

Meanwhile, they had drawn within a few 
feet of the shore, on which Clarence now cast 
his eyes. On a sloping beach in a grove sur- 
rounded by cottonwoods blazed a ruddy fire. 
Standing about it but with their eyes and atten- 
tion fixed upon the two swimmers was a group 
consisting of a man a little beyond middle age, 
a woman, apparently his wife, a younger 
woman, a boy a trifle older and larger than 
Clarence, a girl of twelve, and five or six little 
children. In the camp-fire’s light Clarence 
perceived that they were, taking them all in all, 
swarthy, black-haired, clad hke civilized peo- 
ple, and yet in that indescribable wild way of 
which gypsies possess the secret. 

“Come on,” said the man, as the boat touched 
the shore. 

“Excuse me,” said Clarence politely, “but 
I’m not dressed to meet visitors. The water is 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


63 


fine anyway ; and it’s not near so dangerous as 
it’s cracked up to be. Can’t you get a fellow 
at least a pair of trousers?” 

“You’ll stay here, will you?” 

“I certainly will,” answered the youth, turn- 
ing on his back and fioating. “I’ve had enough 
of being out on the Mississippi to last me for 
several weeks at the very least. Go on, there’s 
a good fellow, — and get me something to 
put on.” 

With a not ill-natured grunt of assent, the 
man walked up the sloping bank. As he passed 
the watchful group he uttered a few words; 
whereupon the larger gypsy boy came down to 
the shore and fixed a watchful eye upon the 
bather, while the others broke up and gave 
themselves to various occupations. Clarence’s 
rescuer went on beyond the fire, where two 
tents lay pitched beside a closed wagon — a 
prairie schooner on a small scale. After some 
search in which the young woman assisted him, 
he issued from the larger tent with a pair of 
frayed khaki trousers and an old calico shirt. 

Returning to the river’s edge, he beckoned 
the swimmer, who, quick to answer the call, 
seized the clothes and darted behind the largest 
cottonwood. Clarence was dressed in a trice. 


64 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


“I wish,” he observed, walking up to his res- 
cuer, “to thank you for saving me. IVe never 
been on a big river before; and I was afraid 
to try swimming. I say,” and as Clarence 
spoke, he gazed ruefully at his nether gar- 
ment, “who’s your tailor?” 

“What’s your name, boy?” 

“Clarence Esmond, age 14, weight 110 
pounds, height five feet two in my — ” 

“And how did you come to be in that boat?” 
Clarence, involuntarily gazing at his frail 
craft and noticing that the older gypsy, 
assisted by the boy, had already beached it, and 
was now getting ready to give it a new coat 
of paint, proceeded to tell at some length his 
various encounters with the bright-eyed god- 
dess of adventure since his departure that 
morning from McGregor. While he was tell- 
ing his rather incredible tale all the party 
gathered about him. Not all, he observed, were 
gypsies. The little girl of twelve was as fair- 
skinned as himself. She was a beautiful child, 
with face most expressive of any passing emo- 
tion. It was to her that Clarence presently 
found he was addressing himself. One of his 
subtle jokes, lost on the gypsies, drew a smile 
of appreciation from the little girl. She was 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


65 


dainty in her dress — which was in no respect 
^ypsy-like. 

“There’s another adventure here,” Clarence 
reflected. “Where did they get her?” How- 
ever, he was content to keep these thoughts to 
himself. At the conclusion of his story, Clar- 
ence addressed himself to the young man. 

“And now, sir, where am I?” 

“You’re in Wisconsin.” 

“Oh, I’ve crossed to the other side, have I? 
And about how far down the river am I from 
the town of McGregor?” 

“You are — ” began the younger gypsy, 
when his senior cut him short, and spoke to 
him hurriedly for some minutes in a language 
strange to Clarence’s ears. 

“I say,” interrupted Clarence, “my folks 
must be awful anxious about me. Would you 
mind letting me know how far I am from 
McGregor? I want to get back.” 

“You are over thirty-flve miles from 
McGregor,” said the older man, thoughtfully 
doubhng the actual distance. 

“Whew! Where can I get a train? I’ve 
got to get back.” 

“Hold on,” said the elder; ‘Vhat does your 
father do?” 


66 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


“Hfe’s a mining expert/’ 

“Is he rich?” 

“I suppose he is. That’s what people say; 
and if you get me back, I’ll see that you’re 
paid.” 

Again the two men conferred. Watching 
them eagerly, Clarence gathered these items of 
information: the elder was called Pete, the 
younger, Ben; they were not in agreement, 
coming almost to blows ; Pete was the leader. 

After further talk the two women were 
called into council. Suddenly the older, a 
withered hag with deep eyes and heavy and 
forbidding brows, turned to Clarence. 

“Your hand!” she said, laconically. 

“Charmed to shake with you,” responded 
the amiable adventm-er, extending his open 
palm. 

Instead of clasping it, the woman caught it 
tight, and dragging Clarence close to the fire 
began eagerly to scrutinize the hnes on his 
palm. 

“You’ll live long,” she said. 

“Not if I have many days hke this,” com- 
mented Clarence. 

“You’ll have lots of wealth.” 

“No objection, I’m sm^e, ma’am.” 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


67 


“You will learn easy.” 

“That^s the very way I propose to learn.” 

“You’ll marry three times.” 

“Oh, I say; cut out at least two of those 
wives, won’t you?” 

“You’ll have a big family.” 

“No objection to children, ma’am.” 

Suddenly the woman paused, gazing fixedly 
at the boy’s palm. 

“Oh!” she suddenly screamed. “The cross! 
the cross! It’s there. I see it. Say, boy, 
you’re a Catholic.” 

“You’re another,” retorted Clarence, indig- 
nantly. 

“You are! You are!” And with a cry like 
that of some wild animal, the woman ran and 
hid herself in the larger tent. 

“Boy,” said Pete, “we’re going to take care 
of you.” 

“Thank you; but if it’s all the same to you, 
I’d just as soon take care of myself.” 

“You’ll do as I tell you,” said Pete, gazing 
angrily at the lad. “You may be a fraud. We 
will find out, and if your story is true, we’ll see 
about getting you back to your people.” 

“Oh, you will, will you? — Good night!” and 
with this Clarence turned and dashed up the 


68 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


river. Pete, followed by Ezra, was after him 
at once. The old man was quick to catch up 
with him, and he made this fact known to the 
hoy by striking him with his closed fist a blow 
on the mouth which brought him flat to the 
earth. Pete kicked his prostrate prey as he 
lay, and was about to renew his brutality, 
when Ben roughly pulled his senior away. 

“Look here!” cried Clarence ruefully, as he 
picked himself up. “Next time you want me 
to do something, tell me. You needn’t punch 
ideas in through my mouth. I guess I can 
take a hint as well as the next one.” 

“You’d better do what Pete says,” whispered 
Ben not unkindly. “It’s no use trying to get 
away from him. I’ll be your friend.” 

“Thank you. By the way, would you call 
kicks and cuffs adventures?” 

The man shrugged his shoulders. 

“Well, I was singing the praises of the god- 
dess of adventure this morning. I wanted to 
meet her the worst way. Well, I’ve been meet- 
ing her all day and I’m kind of tired. If I get 
my hands on her. I’ll hold her under water till 
she’s as dead as a door-nail.” 

“Oh, yes!” said the mystified Ben. 

But the adventures of that day were not yet 
over, as Clarence, to his cost, was soon to learn. 


CHAPTER VI 


In which Clarence meets Dora, learns much 
of his gypsy companion, fights Ezra, and is 
sung to slumber. 

“ T^ora,” said Ben, as they neared the camp- 
fire, “come here.” 

The little girl came running at his call. 

“I want you to show this boy around. He’s 
one of your kind, and you’ll be good company 
for each other while he’s with us.” 

Dora held out her hand, her blue eyes all 
sympathy, her bright face kindling, her smile 
all welcome. 

“Glad to meet you, Dora. My name’s Clar- 
ence Esmond,” said the lad, taking her hand 
and shaking it cordially. “There’s only one 
thing I’ve got against you.” 

“Why? What have I done?” asked the little 
miss, dismay showing itself in her rounded blue 
eyes. 

“It isn’t what you’ve done; it’s what you 
are.” 

“Oh, indeed!” ejaculated Dora, her brows 
going up in bewilderment. 

69 


70 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


“Yes, indeed. I started out this morning 
in quest of my lady, the star-eyed goddess of 
adventure. I was just half in earnest. You 
see. I’ve been at Clermont Academy, New 
York, for three years, where nothing happened 
except three meals a day.” 

“Oh, I see,” said Dora with the suspicion of 
a twinkle in her eye. “The meals happened 
three times a day.” 

“Oh, go on! You know what I mean.” 

“Oh, that’s a fact!” cried Dora. “Talking 
of meals, aren’t you hungry? You’ve had 
nothing since breakfast.” 

“I ought to be hungry,” admitted Clarence, 
“but somehow things have been happening so 
fast that it’s interfered with my appetite.” 

“That’s too bad,” said Dora. “Of course, 
if you don’t want anything ” 

“Oh, I say,” interrupted Clarence, “I sim- 
ply said I wasn’t very hungry. If you’ve got 
anything to eat ” 

There was no need for Clarence to finish his 
sentence. Dora was off at once, and returned 
very quickly with a plate of cold meat and some 
crusts of bread. The repast, if the truth must 
be told, was not very inviting. However, it 
did not seem to strike Clarence in that way at 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


71 


all; for, standing with the plate in his hand, he 
set about eating with a vigor which promised 
a speedy disappearance of everything offered 
him. 

“You said you weren’t very hungry,” said 
Dora, trying to suppress a smile. 

“I’m not,” replied Clarence, continuing to 
do yeoman’s work. 

“When you are hungry, I’d like to be 
around,” said the girl. 

“Suppose,” said Clarence, “that we come 
back to our original subject. We were talking 
about you and the bright-eyed goddess of 
adventure.” 

“Yes. Do go on, Clarence.” 

“Well, anyhow, I’ve been reading books of 
travel and adventure all this summer. Last 
night I finished Treasure Island, and it got me 
going. I was just crazy to have a few adven- 
tures; so I called on the bright-eyed goddess 
to come on and set ’em up.” 

“Did she come?” 

“Come! I should say she did! She’s worn 
her welcome out already. But that’s not what 
I wanted to say. Just before I woke up in 
that boat, which Pete and his friends are paint- 
ing over right now ” 


72 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


“They’ll sell it tomorrow for a few dollars,” 
interpolated Dora. 

“Oh, indeed! How thoughtful! Well, just 
before I woke, I had a dream. I saw the 
bright-eyed goddess long enough to get a crack 
of her wand over the head, and she looked like 
you.” 

“Like me?” 

“Yes, your eyes are bright and blue, your 
complexion is what the novelists call dazzling, 
your hair is long and like the bearded corn 
when it is ripe. So was hers. The goddess 
wore a white dress. So do you.” 

“I always wear white,” said Dora, simply. 
“When 1 was a baby, my mother consecrated 
me to the Blessed Virgin.” 

“What, are you a Catholic, Dora?” 

“Yes, Clarence; and mama kept me dressed 
in white with a blue sash till I was seven years 
of age. Then I made my First Communion. 
On that day, I told Our Lord that I would 
stick to the blue and the white as long as I 
could.” 

“So you dress to please the Blessed Virgin?” 
queried the startled boy. 

They were standing beside the fire, and the 
fiames lighting up the girl’s features added to 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


73 


the glow of enthusiasm which had come upon 
her face as she spoke of the blue and the white. 

“I wish I could say I did,” she made humble 
answer. ‘‘Sometimes I feel that I’m thinking 
too much of how I look. I hope it isn’t a sin 
to want to look pretty.” 

“Of course, it isn’t,” returned Clarence, 
promptly. “Why, I’m troubled that way 
myself.” 

Dora began to giggle. 

“You’re laughing at me,” said Clarence, 
flushing. 

“Excuse me,” said Dora. “I — I — ” 

This time she broke into silvery laughter. 

Clarence gazed down upon himself. He had 
forgotten, in the interest of the conversation, 
his present attire. For a youth of fourteen, 
bare-footed, clad in a rusty calico shirt and 
trousers of uncertain age, to accuse himself of 
taking pride in his apparel and appearance 
was, now he came to think of it, highly com- 
ical. He joined Dora in her laughing. 

“And yet I was not always thus,” he said. 
“You should have seen me this morning in 
my natty sailor suit. I really think I was stuck 
on myself. Dora, by George, you’re a good 
fellow.” 


74 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


“Thank you. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll 
tell you something about the people you’re 
with.” 

Clarence looked around. The twain were 
practically alone beside the fire. Two other 
gypsies, men whom he had not seen before, 
were helping Pete and the boy to give the stolen 
boat a new appearance. The little children 
were paddling about in the water. Strangely 
enough, they scarce uttered a sound. They 
played, it is true, but their play was largely 
pantomime. Ben was off to the right tending 
the horses. The two women were in one of the 
tents. 

“Here’s a log,” said Clarence, rolling one 
forward with some exertion towards the fire. 
“Suppose we sit down, and criticize the whole 
crowd.” 

Clarence had come to an end of his meal. 
He ate no more, because there was no more to 
eat. One would think, could one have seen 
them, that the two innocents, as they seated 
themselves on the log with their faces turned 
towards the river and their backs to the fire, 
had been acquainted with each other from their 
nursery days. 

“First of all,” began Dora, “there’s Pete.” 


CVPID OF CAMPION 


75 


“Oh, yes, I know Pete all right,” said Clar- 
ence, passing his hand over his mouth and rub- 
bing his upper lip. “And I want to say right 
now that I’m not stuck on Pete.” 

“He’s not — he’s not — ” Dora paused and 
considered. “Well, he’s not real nice.” 

“Nobody would say he was.” 

“And he’s the leader of this band.” 

“Gypsies, eh?” 

“Yes, gypsies. It isn’t a regular band you 
know. It’s only a piece of one.” 

“It’s a big enough one for me,” Clarence 
observed with emphasis. 

“You see, Pete got into some trouble last 
spring in Ohio. He made some kind of a horse- 
trade and was sentenced to the workhouse for 
a month. He’d have been there longer, only 
Ben was sent down to wait for him and help 
him pay off his fine. And that’s how I came 
to be here.” 

“What have you got to do with paying off 
Pete’s fine? What have you got to do with 
the workhouse?” asked Clarence indignantly. 

“Nothing,” laughed Dora. “But if it hadn’t 
been for Pete’s being in the workhouse, I 
would’t be here.” 

“Tell me all about it, Dora.” 


76 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


“I will — tomorrow. There’ll hardly be time 
tonight. You see, all these gypsies are 
on their way to join their own crowd some- 
where further north in this State. We’ve been 
traveling up this way since last May — over 
four months.” 

“How far have you traveled?” 

“Ben told me that we’re about five hundred 
miles from where we started.” 

“Five hundred miles! Let me think a min- 
ute.” Clarence began checking off on his fin- 
gers, murmuring at the same time under his 
breath. 

“Why, good gracious!” he spoke out, pres- 
ently. “You haven’t averaged much more 
than four miles a day.” 

“Yes; but you ought to see the way we 
travel. We hardly ever go straight ahead. 
We generally zigzag. We cut across the coun- 
try in one direction and then we cut across back 
again in another, always keeping near to the 
river. You see, we don’t like to meet people 
and we always dodge the towns and villages. I 
guess it’s partly my fault. They don’t want 
strangers to see me.” 

“And I suppose they won’t want anybody 


CUPID OF CAMPION 77 

to see me either,” said Clarence. “Say, did you 
ever try to break away?” 

“I did in the beginning. Pete gave me an 
awful beating three different times; and I 
found it was no use.” 

“Well, I’ll not stand for it. Why, it seems 
to me it would be easy to get away some time 
or other when nobody’s on the watch. Why, 
Dora, we’ve been talking here for fifteen min- 
utes, and nobody’s been bothering about us in 
the least.” 

“Don’t you believe it, Clarence. Those two 
women have been keeping their eyes on us ever 
since we shook hands. They take turn about, 
and the watching is going on night and day.” 

“Is that so? By the way, I notice that boy 
helping those fellows at the boat is looking this 
way very often.” 

“That’s Pete’s youngest son. He’s a bit 
quarrelsome. He’s generally pretty nice to 
me ; but I think that’s because Ben gave him a 
shaking up one day when he was rude to me. 
His name is Ezra. I think he’s a sort of bully. 
I am afraid of him.” 

“I don’t like bullies myself,” said Clarence. 

“He’s watching you,” continued Dora. “He 


78 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


always gets angry and out of sorts when any- 
body is friendly to me. Those httle gypsies 
all like me. But Ezra, when he notices them 
about me much, gives them a lot of trouble.” 

“Maybe he’s jealous,” suggested the artless 
vouth. 

“Jealous? Why should he be jealous? He 
doesn’t care for me.” 

“I can’t believe that,” said Clarence. “Any- 
body who meets you would be sure to hke you, 
because you are a good fellow.” 

Dora broke into so ringing a laugh that all 
the artists engaged upon the boat stopped their 
work to turn their gaze upon the two children. 

“Oh, but you are the funniest boy,” she said. 

“Thank you kindly; I do try my best. But 
come on, let’s finish up with the crowd before 
they get done with that boat.” 

“That’s so. It’s so long since I’ve had any- 
body I could talk to that I can’t help wander- 
ing. Well, those two men with Pete are his 
oldest sons. They don’t seem to count much 
one way or the other. Three of those little chil- 
dren paddling in the water are Ben’s, and the 
other two belong to the oldest of Pete’s sons. 
His wife is dead, and Ben’s wife, that young 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


79 


woman, takes care of them. She’s real nice, 
and so is Ben. Ben is very kind to me. He 
treats me like a little princess. When I told 
him about wearing blue and white in honor of 
our Blessed Mother, he got me a lot of nice 
white dresses and three blue sashes, and his wife 
is just as kind. Her name is Dorcas. She 
helps me wash my things, and sews for me, and 
— you see that little tent over there?” 

“It seems to me I do.” 

“Well, that’s my tent. Ben got it for me. 
His wife sleeps with me every night; but she 
never comes in till I’ve said all my prayers.” 

""All your prayers.” 

“Yes, all of them.” 

“I know only two,” observed Clarence 
regretfully, “and one of them, the Our Father, 
I’ve partly forgotten.” 

“I’ll teach you all I know,” said Dora. 
“And,” she continued, “when I’ve finished my 
prayers, I sing a little hymn to the Blessed Vir- 
gin. Then she knows that I’m going to bed 
and she comes in. Isn’t that nice?” 

“I don’t know,” returned Clarence, “I 
haven’t heard you sing yet.” 

“Oh, I don’t mean that. I mean her staying 


80 


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out and leaving me to myself till I go to bed. 
I call that — I call that — delicate.’’ 

“I can sing some myself,” said Clarence, 
more affected by Dora’s declaration than he 
cared to show. 

“Oh, can you? We’ll get up some duets.” 

“The kids at my school used to like to hear 
me sing, but perhaps it was because they didn’t 
know any better. But you didn’t tell me any- 
thing about that old woman who raised such a 
fuss about seeing a cross on my hand. What 
was the matter with her?” 

“She hates Catholics. I don’t know what to 
make of her. She acts as if she would like to 
poison me because I’m a Catholic. She thinks 
you’re one.” 

“But I’m not.” 

“What are you, Clarence?” 

“I’m nothing. My father said I was to wait 
till I was fourteen before I thought anything 
about religion.” 

Suddenly Clarence stopped. The vision of 
his parents presented itself, — their grief, their 
bewilderment, their perplexity. His eyes 
filled with tears. 

“What’s the matter, Clarence?” 

The boy had not attended boarding school 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


81 


for nothing. With an heroic effort he mas- 
tered himself. 

“Nothing. Something caught me in the 
throat. By the way, I’m. fourteen now; have 
been since last June. It’s time for me to get 
busy and fix up the religious question.” 

“Oh, that’s all right,” said Dora, turning 
shining eyes and the glowing face of enthu- 
siasm upon her new friend. “I’ll instruct you 
in the Catholic faith myself.” 

“But I don’t intend to be a Catholic. It 
isn’t up-to-date. There’s too much supersti- 
tion in it.” 

Dora’s eyes opened to their widest. 

“Clarence, how can you talk so? I’m 
shocked. You need instruction badly, and I’m 
going to begin tomorrow.” 

They certainly at this moment looked like 
life-long friends. Dora, once the question of 
religion had been raised, had become intensely 
earnest. Master Ezra, the boat repairing 
being fairly completed, had drawn near enough 
to see their faces without being able to catch 
the exact import of their words. He was 
plainly disquieted. Tiptoeing his way behind 
the trees he stole behind the two controversial- 
ists, and seizing the end of the log on which 


82 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


they were sitting, gave it a shove and a kick, 
with the result that the two fell sprawling to 
the earth. 

Clarence was up at once, and with a courtly 
air caught the girl’s hand and helped her to her 
feet. 

“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Ezra. His voice was 
raucous. 

“My friend,” said Clarence. “I’m not at all 
pleased with that laugh of yours.” 

“What?” sputtered Ezra. 

“It notes the vacant mind,” continued Clar- 
ence, with apparent calm. “Also I desire to 
state that while I don’t mind your spilling me, 
I do object to your spilhng this girl.” 

“What?” roared Ezra, doubling his fists and 
advancing to within a few feet of the youthful 
knight. 

“I’m not deaf, either. The thing for you 
to do now is to apologize to Dora.” 

“What?” roared Ezra, louder than ever. 

“Oh, you’re deaf, are you?” 

Here Clarence put his two hands like a 
speaking-trumpet before his mouth and shrilled 
at the top of his voice. 

“Apologize to Dora!” 

For answer Ezra’s right hand shot out. 


CUPIB OF CAMPION 


83 


aimed direct for Clarence’s jaw. The young- 
ster, expecting such demonstration, jumped 
back, but not so quickly as to avoid entirely 
the force of the blow; and as he returned with 
a facer that caught Ezra between the eyes, the 
gypsies, man, woman and child, came hurrying 
to the spot in such short order that, when Ben 
threw himself between the two, a circle was 
already formed about the belligerents. 

Ezra addressed Ben in gypsy patter. His 
words were few. Ben nodded. 

“Go ahead,” he said, and drew back into the 
circle ; and before Clarence had caught the full 
significance of these words, a blow planted full 
below his jaw sent him to the earth. He was 
up at once, and, on careful guard, warded off 
several more vicious attacks and waited for an 
opening. It came presently and left Ezra’s 
left eye in a state which promised to develop 
presently into deep mourning. 

At this the gypsy lad lost control of himself 
and proceeded to strike out furiously and wild- 
ly. It was easy for Clarence, a trained boxer 
and agile as a cat, to ward off these blows ; easy 
for him, now and then, to reach his adversary 
with what are known in sporting circles as love- 
taps. In a few minutes, Ezra was breathing 


84 


CUPID OF CAWIPION 


heavily. Suddenly the gypsy changed his 
tactics; he tried to catch Clarence in his arms 
and bear him to the ground. Clarence, not 
without difficulty, succeeded in breaking away, 
and, once free, changed his tactics, too. Spring- 
ing forward, he literally rained blows upon the 
winded foe. Nose, eyes, mouth, jaw, all re- 
ceived vigorous attention, till Ezra, unable to 
stand the punishment, jumped back and 
averted his head. 

“Did you say ’nuff ?” asked Clarence, paus- 
ing, and standing still in the center of the ring. 

For answer, Ezra made a flying leap at his 
foe, determined by sheer weight and momen- 
tum to bring Clarence to defeat. The young 
knight was quick to adjust himself. Ezra’s 
head, intended to ram the lad’s chest, found 
itself noosed within Clarence’s strong right 
arm. The catch nearly brought the young 
knight to the earth; but surefootedness won 
out, and Ezra was in chancery. 

“Say ’nuff,” commanded Clarence, with a 
hug and a punch that were practically simul- 
taneous. 

Pete spoke sharply to Ezra. 

“Nuff,” said the gypsy boy. 

“All right,” said Clarence, and releasing his 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


85 


hold left Ezra free and evidently much the 
worse for the short encounter. 

The gypsies had been silent throughout the 
brisk combat. It was impossible to tell from 
their faces on which side their sympathies lay. 

“Boy,” said Ben, slipping into the ring, “I’d 
advise you to shake hands with Ezra.” 

“Happy thought,” gasped Clarence. “Say, 
Ezra, if you’ll tell Dora you’re sorry for taking 
liberties with her. I’ll be glad to shake hands 
with you.” 

For answer, Ezra broke into half audible 
maledictions. 

“What did he do?” asked Ben. 

Clarence explained. 

“You apologize,” said Ben sternly, on hear- 
ing the story, “or I’ll give you another licking 
myself.” 

“I’m sorry,” said Ezra, with the worst pos- 
sible grace. 

Then Clarence caught Ezra’s hand and 
pumped it up and down with an assurance 
which was amazing. 

The night was now well advanced, and dark 
clouds, black and heavy, had within the last half 
hour shut out the friendly eyes of the stars. A 
peal of distant thunder was heard. 


86 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


‘‘We’d better get ready for bed,” said Ben. 

At his word, all seated themselves about the 
dying fire, save Pete and his wife who at once 
made for the larger tent. One of the children 
came running to Ben with a guitar ; whereupon 
Dora rose and with clasped hands stood beside 
the young gypsy. 

Ben, striking a few chords, nodded to Dora, 
who, at the nod, opened her lips and broke forth 
in as sweet a voice as ever awoke the woodlands 
of Wisconsin into — Gounod’s Ave Maria, 

Clarence was spellbound. He was exalted, 
carried out of himself. It was not the voice 
alone, though the voice was thrillingly sweet; 
not the music, though the air was one that holds 
music-lovers rapt the world over; not the ac- 
companiment, though it was supremely ex- 
quisite in the sacred silence of the night. There 
was more than all this; faith, and love, and 
purity, and innocence — all springing from the 
heart of a child — supplied undertones beyond 
the reach of art that music could supply. 

As the song proceeded, the rain began to fall, 
but the rain was heeded by none — ^not even by 
the little children. Towards the end, the down- 
pour grew heavy; but spellbound, no one 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


87 


moved. As the last note died into silence, there 
ensued a few breathless seconds; then came a 
burst of thunder and a forked prong of light- 
ning which seemed to strike into their very 
midst. All jumped up and made for cover. 

‘‘Come with me,” said Ben, catching Clar- 
ence’s hand. “Your quarters will be in the 
wagon. She sings,” he added, “that song every 
night, and,” continued the musician, as he 
helped Clarence into his new sleeping quarters, 
“she sings it like an angel.” 

“So she does.” 

“And,” added Ben, in a whisper, “she is an 
angel.” 

Ten minutes later Clarence was lying upon 
a bed of straw, and meditating upon the events 
of the most adventurous day in his life. Around 
him lay four gypsy men — Ezra, Pete’s two 
older sons, and Ben. But he was, to all intents 
and purposes, alone. And then in bitterness 
and sorrow the young adventurer wept salt 
tears and checked with difficulty the sighs of 
utter misery. He was captive; his parents 
were, he supposed, frantic with grief. Perhaps 
they thought him dead. And so Clarence, 
frightened and unnerved, wept freely. 


88 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


Suddenly the quiet was broken. The same 
sweet voice, low and clear, trilled out from the 
little tent: 

“Mother dear, O pray for me, 

While far from heaven and thee 
I wander in a fragile bark 
O’er life’s tempestuous sea.” 

Clarence, at the first notes, stopped crying. 

“By George!” he said to himself at the end 
of the first stanza, “Here’s the difference be- 
tween that girl and me. I address myself to 
the bright-eyed goddess of adventure — and see 
where I am ! And she calls on her dear Mother, 
who is also the Mother of God, and just look 
what Dora is 1” 

Before the second stanza was quite finished, 
the exhausted youth fell into a disturbed sleep. 
He tossed uneasily for a time, then murmuring 
as he turned, “Mother dear, O pray for me,” 
he was wrapped in a slumber which no noise 
could disturb. 


CHAPTER VII 


In which the strange tale of Dora, another 
victim of the Bright-Eyed Goddess, is told to 
Clarence, 

Wf hen Clarence awoke the next morning, it 
^ ^ dawned upon him very slowly that he 
was in the firm grasp of a stronger hand, and, 
without any effort on his part, walking up and 
down the greensward at a pace not unworthy 
of a professional walker. A further survey 
brought to his notice the gypsies grouped to- 
gether and eyeing him with interest. At her 
tent door, Dora, fresh as a dew-washed rose, 
stood laughing at him heartily. It was Ben, 
he also realized, who, holding him by arm and 
collar, was causing him to walk with such 
tremendous strides. 

'T say, Ben, drop it. Let me go. What’s 
the matter?” 

‘T’ve been trying to wake you for five 
minutes,” said Ben smiling and puffing. ‘T 
rolled you over first where you were lying in 
the wagon, and shouted and pounded you; and 
89 


90 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


when you didn’t show any signs of life, I 
thought you were dead.” 

“Well, I’m alive all right,” said Clarence, 
and, as Ben freed him from an iron grasp, pro- 
ceeded to rub his eyes. 

Pete, who had just brought the horses to the 
wagon, where his two older sons took them in 
charge, came running over, snarling like a wild- 
cat, and seizing the boy by both shoulders shook 
him without mercy. How long the punishment 
would have lasted, had it depended upon Pete, 
is problematic; for Clarence, now thoroughly 
awakened, cleverly slipped down to the ground 
and sprang between the Gypsy leader’s legs. 
As he did so, he thoughtfully humped himself 
in transit, with the result that Pete measured 
his length on the earth. 

“I wish,” gasped Clarence, “that you’d tell 
me what you want. I’m not a deaf mute.” 

Pete sprang for a stick in the bushes; but 
before he had quite made up his mind which to 
choose, Ben whispered remonstratingly in his 
ear. Ben was angry and determined. Bestow- 
ing a look of strong disfavor on Clarence, Pete 
gave an order of some kind to his company, 
who at once proceeded to break up camp. 

“You go and help Dora,” said Ben, 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


91 


“Good morning, Clarence. How do you 
feel?” asked the child with a smile and the ex- 
tended hand of welcome. The roses of dawn 
were upon her cheeks. 

‘Teel! I’m sleepy. Why, it is hardly day- 
light.” 

“We always travel early in the morning; it 
is cooler, and there are not so many people 
about. Towards noon we camp in some quiet 
place, generally by the river side; and then 
about four we go on again, and keep on going 
sometimes till it’s too dark to see. Come on 
now, Clarence; we’ve got to work fast, or Pete 
will be down on us.” 

Under Dora’s direction, Clarence made him- 
self quite useful. He was quick and intelli- 
gent. The two had their share of the work 
finished several minutes before the others. 

“Where are we going?” asked Clarence. 

“We’re going to zigzag, I suppose,” laughed 
Dora. “We’ll strike into the country for four 
or five miles, and then we’ll strike back again, 
and by the time we’ve pitched our camp tonight 
at the riverside we may be six or seven miles — 
at the most ten — further up the river than we 
are now.” 

“Do we ride or walk, Dora?” 


92 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


“It’s this way: the women and the children 
stay in the wagon. Pete takes the wagon too, 
now and then. The men walk and keep a look- 
out all the time. I generally walk myself; but 
sometimes I ride. Ben told me that I could 
walk with you any time I wanted.” 

“Ben’s all right,” said Clarence. 

In the splendor of a roseate dawn, the party 
set out. For an hour they pushed into the in- 
terior, when, reaching a deeply wooded grove, 
they halted for breakfast. Within half an hour 
they were upon their way again ; Pete and one 
of his sons in the advance, then the wagon, be- 
hind it Clarence and Dora with Ben and the 
other gypsies bringing up the rear. The road 
they were pursuing was overgrown with weeds 
and neglected — a road, evidently, where few 
ventured. 

“Say, I never enjoyed a breakfast more in 
my life than that one. Bacon and eggs! I 
kept on eating them till I saw Pete looking at 
me pretty hard; and then I just had to quit. 
You must know, Dora, I’m a very bashful 
youth.” 

“You took five eggs and lots of bacon,” said 
the candid girl, “and I don’t know how much 
bread. This morning before you got up, two 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


93 


of the gypsies traded your boat for over fifteen 
dollars’ worth of provisions. You say you are 
a bashful youth. I’m glad you told me, for I’m 
very sure I would never have found it out my- 
self.” 

“I manage to conceal all my virtues,” re- 
turned the affable lad, smiling broadly. “And 
now, Dora, if it is all the same to you, I wish 
you’d be good enough to tell me how you came 
to be here.” 

“It’s a long story.” 

“Well, we’ve plenty of time, and if you can 
stand telling it, I reckon I can stand listening. 
Were you kidnapped?” 

“That’s a hard question to answer, Clarence. 
The best way will be for me to begin at the be- 
ginning.” 

“Go ahead.” 

“Well, when I was seven years old I made 
my first Holy Communion. You know what 
that means, don’t you?” 

“I know what you people believe,” answered 
Clarence. “I’ve read a lot about it. But, say, 
do you really believe that Christ is present, and 
that what looks like bread is really His body?” 

“Of course I do!” cried Dora resolutely. 

“But why?” 


94 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


“Because Our Lord told us so. That is faith, 
we believe on the word of God.” 

“Well, go on. Miss Theology.” 

“After making my first Communion, I 
started to go every day and I never missed once 
for over two years. We lived just a little out- 
side of Dayton, Ohio, and I had to walk a mile 
to the church.” 

“You did — and fasting?” 

“Of course, and I just loved to go. Last 
April it was raining almost all the time. It 
was often hard to get even to church, and the 
rivers and streams around Dayton kept rising 
higher and higher. People said that if the rain 
didn’t stop, there would be a terrible flood. 
Well, the rain didn’t stop, and one day in May 
after three days of terrible rain I went to 
church, received Communion and started 
home.” 

“Were you alone?” 

“I was that morning. Generally some one 
of the family came with me; but the ground 
was so muddy that morning that my big sister 
who had intended coming with me backed out.” 

“If I’d been there, I’d have gone with you,” 
volunteered her gallant companion. 

“Anyhow, I had hardly got more than half 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


95 


a mile towards my home, when a man and two 
women came running past me. They were 
very scared-looking and out of breath. As they 
passed me the man said, ‘The dam! the dam! 
It’s broken! Run for your life!’ Just then a 
lot of other people came running, and I turned 
around, and do you know what I saw?” 

“What?” cried Clarence. 

“Men and women and children all running 
towards me, and further back — ^maybe it was 
two or three miles — a sort of a wall of water, 
and it was moving towards me.” 

“Good gracious!” exclaimed Clarence. 
“What did you do?” 

“I started to run and I did run. After a 
while, I got so out of breath that I began to 
stagger. I looked behind and it seemed to me 
that the wall of water was getting closer, and I 
started to run again. Somehow I hit my foot 
against a log and fell, rolling over to one side 
of the road, and when I tried to get up I 
couldn’t use my foot. I had turned my ankle.” 

“Oh, I say,” exclaimed Clarence, “What did 
you do then?” 

“I was scared, and I began to cry.” 

“I’d have done that myself,” commented the 
boy. 


96 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


“Then I got on my knees and, while the 
people in crowds were hurrying past me on the 
road — you see I was to one side where I had 
fallen — I cried ‘Oh, my dear Mother Mary, be 
my mother now and save me.’ ” 

“And she did it?” asked the boy. 

“I was still kneeling when there came dash- 
ing towards me a man on horseback. He saw 
me and checked the horse, and as he passed me 
he leaned over like a circus man and caught me 
up, and then set the horse at breakneck speed, 
and then I fainted.” 

“Gee!” said Clarence. 

“The next thing I knew I opened my eyes to 
find myself in a gypsy camp. It was Ben who 
had saved me. He had just paid Pete’s fine 
and got him out of the workhouse. They were 
all in a hurry to get away, because they were 
afraid Pete might be arrested for something 
else he had done. So they started off. Ben 
told me he would send me back to my parents 
just as soon as they had pitched camp for the 
evening. And he meant it too. But when 
evening came, and he started to get his horse 
ready, Pete made a fuss, and Pete’s wife stood 
by him. They all got very angry. Then Pete’s 
boys took their father’s side. Indeed I thought 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


97 


there was going to be a fight. In the long run, 
Pete had it all his own way, and Ben came to 
me and told me to wait a little longer on ac- 
count of the flood. And I’ve been waiting ever 
since.” 

“Four months?” said Clarence. 

“Yes; and never a word from my mother or 
father. I don’t know whether they are living 
or dead. Often I cry at night ; but then I think 
of my Blessed Mother and I stop.” 

“I don’t blame you for crying,” said Clar- 
ence. “And I’ll bet your parents think you’re 
drowned.” 

“There were ever so many people drowned 
in that flood, I have heard,” said Dora. “Any- 
how I ought to be grateful to God for sparing 
my life.” 

“I say, Dora. We’re both in the same boat. 
You know when I was shoved out into the river 
in my swimming suit, my clothes were lying on 
the shore. I’ll bet my ma is crying now.” And 
Clarence rubbed his shirt sleeves over his eyes. 

“I miss my brothers and sisters so much,” 
continued the girl. “Ben and his wife are good 
and kind, but I do get so homesick. Sometimes 
I am so lonely.” 

“I haven’t got any sisters to miss me,” 


98 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


pursued the boy. ‘‘I had two, but both of them 
were travelling with pa once in Mexico and 
they drank some polluted water and died of 
typhoid fever within two days of each other. 
And my little brother died when he was five. 
And now my father and mother will think I 
am dead, too.” 

Again Clarence used his shirt sleeves to wipe 
his brimming eyes. 

“Sometimes Clarence, I dream that I’m 
home again and that mama is holding me in 
her arms and kissing me, and then I’m so 
happy till I wake ; and then sometimes I dream 
that I’m, receiving Holy Communion, and I’m 
as happy as can be.” 

“You are?” said Clarence. 

“Of course. Why, I have not received Our 
Lord for months, and I’m — I’m just hungry 
for Him.” 

“Dora, you are a good fellow.” 

“You told me that last night.” 

“Do you know that I’m thinking seriously of 
adopting you?” 

“What?” cried the girl. 

“Adopting you. I’m short on sisters, and 
you could help to fill the supply.” 

“Oh, thank you; you think I’ll do, do you?” 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


99 


“You’ll do first rate,” answered Clarence 
tranquilly and failing to detect the mischief in 
Dora’s glance. “First chance we get to see a 
lawyer, we’ll have it fixed up. Say, is there no 
way for us to escape?” 

“I’m afraid not; you’ll see for yourself as we 
go on.” 

At this point of the conversation, Pete came 
running towards them, and catching Dora’s 
eye, held up his hand. 

“What does he want?” Clarence inquired. 

“That’s his sign to tell us to get in the 
wagon.” 

“What for?” 

“Probably there are some people on the road. 
Here now, jump in. We have to stay till he tells 
that we are free to go out.” 

For half an hour they remained hidden. 
They could hear outside strange voices and the 
passing of some vehicle. 

“This is funny,” observed Clarence. 

“Do you know, Clarence, that since I joined 
the gypsies I have never seen a stranger’s face 
till you came yesterday?” 

Clarence meditated for a moment. 

“Oh!” he said presently, and with his most 
engaging smile. “It was worth your while 
waiting, wasn’t it?” 


CHAPTER VIII 


In which Clarence enters upon his career as 
a gypsy, and makes himself a disciple of Dora. 

^ LARENCE learned in the course of that day a 
^ good deal of his companions. It was a 
divided camp. Pete was the official leader, but 
his authority was weak. He was a dried-up 
man with furtive eyes and hang-dog aspect. 
He had a genius for breaking the law and 
getting into trouble. If there were twenty 
ways of doing a thing, Pete invariably chose 
the least honest. His range as a thief went 
from chickens to horses. In this, as in all other 
things, he was ably abetted by his shrewish 
wife. That remarkable woman had a gift for 
fortune-telling which was uncanny. It was not 
without reason that Dora suspected Pete’s wife 
of having dealings with the devil. The woman 
had an intense hatred for anything that savored 
of the Catholic faith. Her eyes, whenever they 
fell upon Dora, shot forth a baneful light. It 
was Ben who stood between the child and her 
malignity. 

Ben was of different mould. He was brave, 
100 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


lai 

open and kind. A certain gentleness and re- 
finement were observable in him and his wife. 
Dora noticed these things and pointed them 
out to Clarence. But she did not tell him, for 
she did not know it, that it was her presence, her 
example, her sweetness and modesty, which 
had, to a great extent, developed in the gypsy 
couple these lovely qualities. 

And, in truth, it was Dora who was, in a 
sense, the real leader. She was the uncrowned 
queen. Neat, spotless in attire, graceful of 
form and of dazzling complexion, she was al- 
ways fresh and bright and candid and sweet. 
Upon the perfect features there was a certain 
indefinable radiance — the radiance one finds so 
rarely on the faces of those who appear to have 
been thinking long and lovely thoughts of God 
and whose “conversation is in heaven.” Dora 
knew well the companionship of saints and 
angels. A keen sense of humor, made known 
now in rippling laughter, now in the twinkling 
of an eye, showed that the child was whole- 
somely human. Ben seemed to worship the 
ground she trod upon; his wife was a no less 
ardent devotee, and the little children vied with 
each other in winning her word or smile. Evene 
Pete’s two graceless sons put aside their coarse- 


102 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


ness and what they could of their evil manners 
in her winning and dainty presence. Wherever 
she moved, she seemed to evoke from those she 
met undreamed-of acts of gentleness and sweet- 
ness and love. And indeed before the day was 
spent, the child unwittingly won a new devotee 
— Master Clarence himself. Clarence, be it 
known, was in most respects a normal boy. He 
was also unusually clean in thought and in 
word and in life. He had never used a really 
coarse expression, and he recoiled from any 
sort of foulness. If one were to ask why this 
was so, there would be no adequate answer, 
save that there is no accounting for the un- 
covenanted graces and mercies of God. A sort 
of instinct had guided the boy, during his three 
years at Clermont Academy, in the choice of 
his companions. He was always seeking the 
society of those he considered his betters. It 
took the lad little time to discover that Dora 
was pure, innocent, gentle, gracious, and high- 
minded above all whom he had ever met. Be- 
fore nightfall, he too was her slave. 

Let there be no misunderstanding. The 
reader who considers this a case of puppy love 
has missed the point. Clarence was at an age 
and development when the normal boy is little 


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103 


interested in the girl. But to him Dora was 
something apart. She was set high on a 
pedestal. She was an ideal. She stood to him 
for all that was good and beautiful and inspir- 
ing in human nature. 

As for Dora herself, she had never before 
encountered a youth so blithe, so debonair, so 
clever of speech and quick of wit as the young 
adventurer. She perceived something in the 
boy of which he himself was scarcely aware — 
a knightliness, a gallantry that went with high 
ideals, a serene and lovely purity of heart. She, 
in turn, placed Clarence upon a pinnacle, and 
was in intent his devoted slave. Within 
twenty-four hours, she was unconsciously de- 
pending upon him. 

On the very afternoon of their first day’s 
travel, she organized a “Catechism class,” con- 
sisting of Clarence, Ben, and his wife. It was 
held in the wagon and lasted for an hour. Be- 
fore it was ended, each member knew how to 
make the sign of the cross, and Master Clar- 
ence himself, who had asked many questions 
and put many objections, was beginning to see 
that the Catholic Church was not so encrusted 
with superstitions, as he had supposed, nor in 
any wise, as he had once held, out of date. 


104 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


Pete and his wife, upon understanding what 
was going on, were furious ; the woman particu- 
larly so. The leader, afraid to wreak vengeance 
on Dora, singled out Clarence as the victim to 
his rage. Many a secret blow did the boy re- 
ceive during the day’s journey. 

At nightfall there came a heavy rain. All 
took shelter in the big tent. Clarence hap- 
pened to remark how two nights previously he 
had been engrossed in a wonderful story called 
Treasure Island. 

“What was it about?” asked Ben. 

“Do you want me to tell it?” 

“Oh, do,” cried Dora. “I haven’t read a 
story or heard one for ever and ever so long.” 

“I like a nice story,” said Dorcas, Ben’s wife, 
beaming on the lad. 

“Tell us Treasure Island,” begged one of the 
children. 

And Clarence, thus adjured, set about re- 
counting that wondrous tale of ships and 
pirates and buried treasures. At the first 
words, Pete and his wife left the tent. But 
the others remained, and listened to a lad who 
coupled an extraordinary memory with a flow 
of vivid language. The story was in its first 
quarter when Pete returned and, to the disap- 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


105 


pointment of all, announced bedtime. The 
guitar was brought, Gounod’s Ave Maria 
sung, and when sleep visited the eyes of Clar- 
ence, who kept himself awake to hear Dora’s 
good-night hymn to the Blessed Mother, it 
visited a youngster who in twenty-four hours 
had achieved a partnership with a singularly 
lovely child in the leadership of a gypsy band. 


CHAPTER IX 


In which Clarence gets some further knowl- 
edge of a shrine^ which has much to do with the 
most important events of this veracious nar- 
rative, and pays back the gypsy , PetCj with 
compound interest, 

T T WAS the third day of Clarence’s experiences 
as a gypsy. He and Ben and Dorcas had 
become great friends. Often the young gypsy 
couple chose to walk with Dora and the boy, 
and, in their talks, the subject was not infre- 
quently religion. Clarence was quick to grasp 
the truths of faith, and, indeed, became a sort 
of assistant professor, supplementing the ex- 
planations of Dora with knowledge gained 
from his own wide range of reading. 

Pete and his wife were at no pains to conceal 
their fury at the turn of events brought about 
by the arrival of Clarence. There was poison 
in their looks and venom in their tongues. Ezra 
made himself a sharer of this unlovely couple’s 
feelings. He hated Clarence intensely ; it was 
hatred born of envy. The memory of his de- 
feat still rankled. One or the other of these 
106 


CUPID OF CAMPION 107 

three was always watching the boy, night and 
day. 

On this particular morning, Clarence had, 
after breakfast, wandered into the forest to 
gather some flowers for Dora’s altar. The little 
girl had the day previous brought him into her 
tent and shown him a little shrine of Our Lady 
Immaculate. 

‘T pray before it,” she said, “and I have 
promised our Blessed Mother that if she have 
me restored to my home, I will join some Order 
in her honor where I can give most of my time 
to prayer and meditation.” 

“So you intend to become a contemplative?” 
asked Clarence, looking at the child with re- 
newed interest. 

“If God allows me, Clarence, I’d like to sit 
at the feet of Our Lord forever.” 

“Not for me,” said Clarence, “I’d like to do 
things. The active life suits me. But really 
that is one of the great things about your 
Church.” 

‘'Our Church,” corrected Dora with a smile. 

“I can’t say that yet,” said Clarence. “Any- 
how, as I was saying, one of the great things 
about your Church is that it has something to 
suit the taste of everyone. There’s no end of 


108 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


variety in it. And say, Dora, where do you 
get all these flowers for your shrine?’' 

“Ben gets most of them. His wife helps, 
too. They began doing this long before they 
thought of becoming Catholics. Ben got me 
that pretty statue somewhere or other three 
months ago ; and he began bringing flowers' al- 
most at once. He built the shrine, too. When- 
ever he came in up to a few days ago, he al- 
ways lifted his hat. One day I found him 
kneehng before it. Since we began instruc- 
tions, he kneels and makes the sign of the 
cross.” 

“Why don’t you try to get Pete and his wife 
interested?” 

“They never come to my tent; they don’t 
even know about the shrine. Ben has arranged 
all that. I believe, if they knew about it, that 
they would smash the statue in pieces — and 
as for me, I don’t know what they would do.” 

“By George, if I ever can do a good turn for 
Ben,” exclaimed the boy enthusiastically, “I’ll 
do it with all my heart. He is so kind and good 
and gentle. In fact, he seems to be deeply re- 
ligious.” 

“That’s just what I think. His wife is just 
as good. She has given up fortune-telling, she 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


109 


told me, for good. She says she’d rather starve 
than do it again. And Ben is figuring now 
every day how much he has taken dishonestly. 
He says before he gets baptized he’s going to 
restore everything that isn’t honestly his.” 

“Dora, you’ve done all this.” 

“Oh, no, Clarence; I think it must be our 
Blessed Lady. She hasn’t forgotten a single 
flower that Ben has brought to her shrine. 
She’s going to pay him back with interest.” 

“You wouldn’t mind, Dora, if I helped 
gather some flowers, too?” 

“Indeed, no ; but I want you to do it in honor 
of the Blessed Virgin.” 

“Of course. I’ll get some tomorrow.” 

It was in consequence of this conversation,^ 
then, that Clarence was wandering in the 
woods. His quest was disappointing. No 
flowers greeted his searching eyes. Further 
and further he wandered. Suddenly, he was 
roughly seized by the collar from behind, and 
turning he saw that Pete had him in his vigor- 
ous grip, Pete with a branch of willow in his 
free hand. 

“I told you not to try to get away,” snarled 
the gypsy bringing the branch smartly upon 
Clarence’s legs. 


110 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


“Stop that! I wasn’t trying to get away at 
all” 

For answer, Pete laid the lash unmercifully 
upon the powerless boy, beating him with all 
his strength. The pain became so great that 
Clarence at length unable to restrain himself 
further burst into a loud cry for mercy. 

Pete paused, looking around apprehensive- 
ly. His keen ear detected the sound of far-off 
footsteps. Throwing the willow aside, he re- 
leased his hold on the boy (who sank to the 
ground writhing in pain) and disappeared in 
his usually stealthy manner, into the bushes. 

It was Ben who had heard the boy’s cry of 
pain. 

“What has happened?” he cried looking with 
concern upon the writhing lad. 

“Pete has given me an awful beating,” 
answered Clarence, mastering his voice, though 
the tears were still rolling down his cheeks. 

“Why? What did you do?” 

“He said I was trying to get away, and I 
wasn’t. I just came along here looking for 
flowers for Dora’s shrine. And the worst of 
it is,” continued the boy with a rueful smile 
contending with his falling tears, “I didn’t get 
a single flower.” 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


111 


“Perhaps that holy woman who is the mother 
of God will pay you back for every lick you re- 
ceive. Dora said she is good pay.” 

Clarence arose, felt himself gingerly, and 
breaking into a smile remarked, “If it’s all the 
same to the Blessed Virgin, I’d prefer to do my 
trading with her in flowers instead of lashes. 
Never mind, Mr. Pete, the first chance I get. 
I’ll fix you all right.” 

The chance, it so came to pass, presented it- 
self that very afternoon. They were now some 
six miles north of the Wisconsin, which they 
had crossed the preceding day, and had reached 
a spot on the Mississippi about three miles be- 
yond Prairie du Chien, which is just across the 
river from McGregor. Clarence, of course, had 
no idea he was so near the place where his ad- 
ventures had begun. The boy, still very sore 
and bruised, again started off along the river’s 
bank in quest of flowers. Mindful of the 
beating, he made his way cautiously, warily, 
determined not to be taken unawares again. 
Suddenly his alert and attentive ear caught a 
slight sound. Someone in a grove of trees a 
few yards above the bank was whittling. 
Screening himself behind the willows about 
him, Clarence drew closer, and after a few 


112 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


paces thus taken, discovered Pete, a pipe in 
his mouth, seated on a log beneath a hollow 
tree. Pete, as he smoked vigorously, was whit- 
tling with a certain air of enjoyment a rather 
stout branch. 

“By Jove,’’ cried Clarence to himself, “if 
he’s not getting a rod in pickle for me !” And 
Clarence felt his legs once more with a tender 
hand. “He has no right to whack me the way 
he did. I’m not his son; I’m not in his charge. 
And I don’t like the look of that rod at all. I 
wish I could stop him.” 

Clarence, securely screened by the bushes, 
continued to stare and meditate. A bee buzzed 
by his ear, and then another. Following their 
flight, he noticed that they disappeared in a 
hollow of the tree under which the industrious 
Pete was seated. 

Five minutes passed. Pete still smoked and 
whittled. Then the old leader arose, and with 
a smile on his countenance, which would in all 
likelihood throw any child who saw it into con- 
vulsions, proceeded to lash the air, holding in 
his free hand an imaginary victim. 

“I guess he thinks it’s myself he’s holding,” 
murmured the astonished witness of these 
strange proceedings. “Also, I think I’ll try 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


113 


to find out if there isn’t a bee-hive in that tree.” 

As he thus communed with himself, Clar- 
ence bent and quickly picked up five stones; 
then rising, he sent one after the other driving 
at the hollow spot in the tree. The first stone 
went wild, the second struck the tree, the third 
nearly entered the hole, the fourth flew wild, 
and the fifth ! 

So intent was the gypsy upon the imaginary 
castigation he was inflicting that he was still 
swishing the air violently when out of the hole 
flew an army of angry bees. They were not 
inclined to be dispassionate. Somebody had 
done them a wrong, and somebody had to suf- 
fer for it. The bees were upon the gypsy when 
he was just putting all his strength into a most 
vicious swing. He swung that stick no more. 
With a roar that set the echoes ringing, Pete 
dropped the stick, and clapping his hands to 
his head set out at a rate, which, if properly 
timed, would, no doubt, have created a new 
record in the way of a fifty-yard dash for the 
river, into which he plunged with an agility 
worthy of youth and professional diving. 

To the gypsies who, attracted by his yells 
(for he had yelled all the way to the river’s 
edge), had gathered on the bank, it appeared 


114 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


that Pete was going in for a long distance 
swim. In fact, he had almost crossed the river, 
before he ventured to turn back. Clarence, 
who had thoughtfully possessed himself of the 
switch and broken it into minute pieces, was the 
last to join the eager and mystified watchers. 

“WhaCs the matter?” — “What’s hap- 
pened?” — These and a dozen similar questions 
in English and in gypsy patter greeted his ar- 
rival. 

“I rather think,” said Clarence in his most 
serious manner, “that Pete must have run up 
against a swarm of bees, and they weren’t glad 
to see him. I noticed him a minute ago run- 
ning for the river with the speed of a deer. It 
was fine to see him go. It seemed to me that 
there was a bunch of bees around his head — 
a sort of a crown of glory — acting as his escort. 
It’s a pleasure to see a man like Pete run. I’d 
walk twenty miles to get a treat like that.” 

Before Pete had quite achieved his return, 
Ben called Clarence aside. 

“Clarence, you got those bees after Pete.” 

“Who told you?” 

“Pete’s oldest son; he was watching you. 
There^s always someone watching youf' 

“Great Caesar!” cried Clarence losing all 


CUPIB OF CAMPION 


115 


his blitheness, and turning pale as a sheet. 
‘Tm in for it now. He’ll /b7Z me?” 

“Why did you do it?” 

“I could hardly help’ it. I saw the old sinner 
sitting right under a bee’s nest fixing up a 
switch; and I guessed he was fixing it for me. 
Then he stood up, and began switching some- 
body with an unholy joy on his measly old face, 
and I knew he was switching me. I couldn’t 
stand for that, and I began letting fly stones 
at the hole in the tree, and that old pirate was 
so enjoying the imaginary whipping he was 
giving me that he didn’t notice a thing till the 
bees came out in a body and took a hand. It 
wasn’t so very bad, was it, Ben?” 

Ben grinned. 

“It was good for him,” he made answer. 

“But what am I to do? I don’t want any 
more whippings like I got this morning.” 

“It’s all right for a while, anyhow,” returned 
Ben. “I’ve told Pete’s son that if he says a 
word about it to anyone I’ll give him what you 
would get. I’ve scared him, and he’s promised 
to keep quiet.” 

“Oh, thank you, Ben,” cried Clarence, who 
had been thoroughly frightened. “You’re 
splendid ; and if ever I can do anything for you 


116 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


and yours, 111 do it, no matter what. Say, look 
at the old fox. Isn’t he a sight?” 

Pete had just reached dry land. His ap- 
pearance justified Master Clarence’s remark. 
Looking at his neck, one might surmise that 
Pete was suffering from goiter aggravated by 
an extreme case of mumps. As for his face, it 
gave one the impression that Pete had engaged 
in a prize fight, and remained in the ring for 
several rounds after he had been defeated. 
Pete, punctuating his steps with a fine flow of 
profanity, made for the larger tent. He was 
seen no more that day. 

Clarence having made a most unsuccessful 
attempt to look sympathetic, went to the river 
and took a swim. Clarence knew the river 
now; it had no terrors for him. Whenever he 
went swimming (and he had been doing this 
several times each day) one or another of the 
gypsy men followed him into the water. 

That evening, having finished, amid great 
enthusiasm on the part of his auditors. Treas- 
ure Island, Clarence contrived to have a few 
words in private with Dora. 

“Dora,” he said, “I’ve been thinking and 
thinking how you and I can get away together ; 
but I can’t see any way.” 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


117 


“It’s no use to try,” said Dora. 

“But I can get away by myself, I think. 
I’ve got it figured out.'’ 

“You can!” 

“Yes, I think so. Of course, there’s danger 
in it. But I’d rather die than get another such 
a whipping as that old buccaneer gave me to- 
day. All the same, I hate to leave you here.” 

“Don’t take any big risks, Clarence.” 

“But if I go. I’ll never* forget you; and, if I 
can, I’ll see that you are freed.” 

“You won’t be able to do it. If you were to 
get free, Pete would use some means or other 
to spirit me away.” 

“We’ll see,” said Clarence. “Will you pray 
that I may succeed?” 

“Indeed, I will. What are you going to 
do?” 

“I don’t want to say anything yet. It may 
be a week before things come right. Good 
night, Dora ; and don’t forget me.” 


CHAPTER X 


In which Clarence engages in a swimming 
race, and to the consternation of Dora, disap^ 
pears in the waters of the Mississippi. 

/^N THE following day, the camp did not 
break up at the usual early hour. Pete 
remained in his tent nursing his injuries. The 
gypsies were kept mindful of his presence, now 
by an occasional bellow from the leader, now 
by a roaring burst of profanity. Ben had dis- 
appeared early in the morning; and it was for 
him they were waiting before they proceeded 
further. 

It was nearly noon-time when he returned. 
After an interview with Pete, he called Clar- 
ence aside. 

“Do you know where I have been, my boy?” 

“No; where?” 

“To McGregor.” 

“You have! Is it far from here?” 

“It’s ten miles down the river.” 

“And what about my parents?” 

“They stayed over at McGregor till yester- 
118 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


119 


day afternoon, hoping to recover your body.” 

“My body?” 

“Yes. They are sure you were drowned. 
They have been dragging the river for you ever 
since you disappeared. Yesterday, your father 
had to leave. There’s a reward of one thousand 
dollars for your body.” 

“Gee! I didn’t know I was worth that 
much.” 

“Clarence,” continued Ben, “I’m sorry we’ve 
kept you. It isn’t all my fault. And I’m sorry 
about Dora. Pete is a born kidnapper; and 
he has more power than me. Anyhow, no 
matter what happens, so long as I’m alive I’ll 
see that no harm comes to that dear httle girl.” 

“Ben, you are a good fellow.” And Clar- 
ence shook Ben’s hand with vigor. 

Within fifteen minutes the gypsies were on 
the road. They made only five or six miles 
that day, and about two hours before sunset 
pitched their tents in a clearing at the river side 
about fifteen miles north of Prairie du Chien. 

Clarence, at the first opportunity, went to 
the river and looked about for a good place to 
swim. There was no need for a search. The 
suitable place was awaiting him. He had hard- 
ly got into his bathing suit when Ezra appeared 


120 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


and, saying little, followed him into the water. 

Ezra was a good swimmer. He used a 
powerful overhand stroke. 

“Say, Ezra, why do you always swim over- 
hand?” 

“It’s the best and swiftest,” answered the 
gypsy boy. 

“It may be the swiftest,” returned Clar- 
ence; “but it’s no good for a long swim. I 
prefer going sailor fashion.” 

“It’s the best for a long swim, if you’ve got 
the strength to keep it up/’ retorted Ezra. 

“All the same,” said Clarence, “I’ve got to 
see the boy who can beat me out in a long 
distance swim, if he sticks to the overhand.” 

“You mean to say you can beat me?” said 
Ezra. 

“Of course, I can,” returned Clarence 
superbly. “I can beat you or any of your 
family.” 

“You see that island in the middle of the 
river?” asked Ezra, pointing' as he spoke to a 
long, low island nearly a mile in length. Clar- 
ence looked at it intently. It was thickly 
wooded and ended to the south in a clump of 
willows deeply submerged in the water. The 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


121 


two boys were* bathing in a spot facing almost 
directly the middle of the long island. 

“It seems to me I do,” answered Clarence; 
“and it must be at least half a mile from us.” 

“I’ll race you to the island,” said Ezra. 

“You’ll lose,” returned Clarence. 

“Hey!” cried Ezra, “hey, Ben! this kid says 
he can beat me to that island. May I race 
him?” 

“Come here, you two,” said Ben, approach- 
ing them. As Pete was still nursing an in- 
flamed neck, face, and temper, Ben was now 
in command of the camp. “Here’s a good 
place for diving off,” he continued, pointing 
to a spot where the bank rose three feet or more 
above the water’s edge. “Stand back, both of 
you, on a line with me, and when I say ‘go’ 
start out with a good dive.” 

The two lads ranged themselves Reside Ben. 
Clarence appeared to be unusually serious. 
One would think, looking upon him just then, 
that the winning of this race was to him a mat- 
ter of life and death. The color had almost 
entirely left his cheeks, his mouth was closed 
tight, his chin thrown out, and his whole poise 
indicated supreme earnestness. 


122 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


‘‘Are you both ready?” asked Ben. 

“I am,” returned Ezra, who was quite cool 
and perfectly confident. 

“Wait one second,” said Clarence. Then 
he gravely bowed his head and made the Sign 
of the Cross. 

“Wait!” came another voice; and all three 
turning saw Pete’s wife hurrying towards 
them. 

Holding out a skinny finger and pointing 
it impressively at Clarence, she screamed: 

“May you sink, and never come up. May 
you drown, and your body never be found. 
May my curse follow you into the other 
world.” 

“Is that all, ma’am?” asked Clarence break- 
ing into his sunniest smile. 

The woman choked with rage. She tried to 
speak, but words and voice both failed her. 

“Come on, boys,” resumed Ben. “Ready?” 

“Yes,” answered the two in a breath. 

“Go!” 

At the word, the boys sprang into the water. 
Both disappeared beneath the surface at the 
same time. Within a few seconds, Ezra 
emerged and his hands rose high and fast above 
his head in the overhand stroke. Several sec- 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


123 


onds passed, and those watching on the shore 
began to show signs of nervousness. All the 
gypsies, save, of course, the snarling and pro- 
fane invalid, were now gathered together 
beside Ben. Even Dora, who was never to be 
seen at the river side when the men were swim- 
ming, had joined the gazers, standing a few 
yards apart. 

“Oh, Ben,” she cried, “what’s happened to 
Clarence?” 

Ben made no answer. Scanning the surface 
of the river intently, he was pulling off his 
shoes. 

“He’s drowned! He’s drowned!” screamed 
the gypsy hag. “My curse has fallen.” Her 
laugh, horrible to the ear, rang out carrying 
in its undertones all manner of evil omen. 

As the woman was speaking, Dora fell upon 
her knees. 

“Holy Mary,” she cried aloud, “save your 
dear child, Clarence. Remember he is not bap- 
tized.” 

The girl had not yet finished her adjuration 
when a great shout arose from the men and 
shrill screams from the children. Far out, fully 
five yards ahead of Ezra and as many yards 


124 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


further down stream, Clarence came to the sur- 
face. The boy had been the best long distance 
diver of all the youngsters attending Clermont 
Academy, the eastern boarding school. 

A howl of rage arose from the old woman. 

‘‘Get up! Get up!” she cried, rushing with 
outstretched and hooked plaws at the kneeling 
girl. It was only by the quickest of movements 
that Ben was able to save the child from bodily 
injury. As it was, the woman dashed into 
Ben’s rigid and protecting elbow, and, doubled 
up with pain, retired shrieking and cursing to 
the genial companionship of her husband. 

Meantime the race went on bravely. The 
two boys for the next ten minutes retained their 
respective positions, with, however, one point 
of difference. Ezara was swimming in almost 
a direct line ; Clarence was being carried dawn 
the river by the current. As the moments 
passed, the distance between the two visibly 
widened. 

Ben was wringing his hands and frowning. 

“What is it, Ben?” asked Dora. “Is there 
any danger? Is there anything wrong?” 

“I’m afraid,” Ben made answer, “that if 
Clarence doesn’t fight the current more 
strongly, he may be carried down below the 


CUPID OF CAMPION 125 

island. Unless he’s a wonderful swimmer, 
there will be danger.” 

Ben’s forebodings promised, as the moments 
went on, to be justified. Both boys were near- 
ing the island, Ezra not more than twenty 
yards below the point from which he had set 
out. Clarence quite near the clump of south- 
ernmost willows. 

“Do you think he’ll reach it?” cried the girl. 

“I hope so; I don’t know.” 

Once more Dora fell upon her knees, and 
crossing herself, prayed with streaming eyes 
to the heavenly Mother in whom she ever con- 
fided. 

“Look,” cried Ben. “Ezra has reached the 
island. And Clarence is trying to swim 
upstream so as not to miss it. My God!” he 
continued, “I do believe he’s giving out!” 

A deathly silence had come upon all. Clar- 
ence was swimming wildly. He had aban- 
doned the sailor stroke and was beating the 
water with aimless hands. On the stillness his 
voice reached them. 

“Help! Help!” he cried. 

Then throwing up his hands, apparently 
within a few yards of the willows, he disap- 
peared in the calm river. 


CHAPTER XI 


In which John Rieler of Campion College^ 
greatly daring, goes swimming alone, finds a 
companion, and acts in such a manner as to 
bring to Campion College the strangest, oddest 
hoy visitor that ever entered its portals, 

T T WAS thirteen minutes to ten on the follow- 
ing morning when Master John Rieler of 
Campion College, second-year high, discovered 
that he earnestly desired to be excused from 
the class-room. It was a very warm day for 
September, the sun was shining with midsum- 
mer fervor, and John Rieler, who had spent 
the vacation on the banks of the Miami — when- 
ever, that is, he did not happen to be between 
the banks — felt surging within him the call of 
the water. John, a smiling, good-natured 
native of Cincinnati, was in summer months 
apparently more at home in the water than on 
the land. One of the anxieties of his parents 
in vacation time was to see that he did not swim 
too much, to the certain danger of his still 
unformed constitution. 


126 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


127 


For various reasons, connected more or less 
with the discipline of Campion College, John 
had had no swim since his arrival seven days 
before. He was filled with a mad desire to 
kick and splash. And so, at thirteen minutes to 
ten, he held up the hand of entreaty, endeavor- 
ing at the same time to look ill and gloomy. 

John had figured out everything. As recess 
was at ten o’clock, the teacher would not call 
him to account for failing to return. The recess 
lasted fifteen minutes, giving the boy twenty- 
eight minutes to go to the river, take a morning 
splash and return. Of course, there were risks ; 
but in John’s mind the risks were well worth 
taking. 

The boy, on receiving permission, was quick 
to make his way down the stairs of the class- 
room building, and, turning to the back of the 
small boys’ department and hugging the wall 
closely, he reached the shaded avenue leading 
from Church Street up to Campion College. 
Along this avenue was a cement sidewalk bor- 
dered on one side by a line of young poplars 
and on the ot'her, below a terrace of some three 
or four feet, by another of ancient and umbra- 
geous box-elders. The cement walk was too 
conspicuous ; the graded road beside it equally 


128 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


so. Master John Rieler, therefore, wisely 
chose the abandoned path below ; and doubhng 
himself up, so as to escape the attention of the 
Brother in the garden, ran swiftly on. Church 
Street, leading to the city of Prairie du Chien, 
was passed in safety. The worst was over. An 
open road, really an abandoned street, left to 
itself by the march of the city northward, the 
Chicago, Milwaukee, and St. Paul track, and 
then, within a few yards, the bank of the invit- 
ing Mississippi. 

A boat-landing, projecting quite a distance 
into the river, the property of the Jesuit Fath- 
ers at Campion, was awaiting the daring youth 
from which to dive. 

He was at the further end of it in a trice, 
kicked off his shoes and stockings, and with 
the amazing rapidity of small boys when so 
inclined, was disrobed in almost the time it 
takes to tell it. With the slight delay of mak- 
ing a hurried but fervent sign of the cross, John 
took a header, rose, struck out vigorously, and 
having reached a distance midway between the 
landing and Campion Island, threw himself 
contentedly on his back and floated in an 
ecstasy of satisfaction. 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


129 


Ah!” he sighed, “how I wish I could stay 
right here till dinner time.” 

Presently he turned over quietly, and as his 
ears rose above the water, he thought he heard 
a splash a little above him. Beating with hands 
and feet, he raised himself as high as he could 
out of the water and looked in the direction 
whence the sound came. 

Was that a hand — two hands — ^was it the 
head of a swimmer? John was puzzled. Even 
as he looked, the supposed head seemed to dis- 
appear. John swam towards the spot. As he 
drew near — there could be no mistake that time 
— a human head rose to the surface and almost 
at once disappeared again! Frantically John 
swam forward. As he came close to the place 
where the head disappeared, a slight bubbling 
on the water’s surface caught his eye. Throw- 
ing himself forward with one almost super- 
human stroke, John reached down with his 
foremost hand — the right — and caught an arm. 
Up there came to the surface the face of a boy, 
lips ghastly blue, face deathly pale, corn-flower 
blue eyes that opened for a moment and, even 
as the tongue gasped out, “Help me, for God’s 
sake,” closed again. 

Putting his hand under the body of the unre- 


130 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


sisting boy, John Rider made for the shore. 
It was an easy rescue. The boy on his arm was 
unconscious and John Rider was as much at 
home in the water as it is possible for any crea- 
ture short of the amphibious to be. 

On getting the boy ta land, he lifted him 
upon the wooden platform of the pier, turned 
him on his back, raised him up by the feet, and 
satisfied that the stranger’s lungs were not 
filled with water, rolled him over face upward 
and caught him vigorously on both sides 
between the ribs. 

“Stop your tickling, Jock,” came a weak 
voice. Eyes of blue, much bluer than the swim- 
ing suit of their owner, opened and shut again. 

“Say, you’re not dead, are you?” 

“Of course, I’m dead,” replied the blue-eyed 
one sitting up. “If I weren’t, do you think I’d 
be talking to you?” 

“I — I — thought you were drowned.” 

“Well, I’m not. How did I get here?” 

“I fished you out. You were bobbing up 
and down there, and I just managed to get you 
as you went under for the last time, I suppose. 
How do you fell now?” 

“Hungry,” said the other, arising. 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


131 


“Who are you anyhow?” 

“I’m Clarence Esmond. Say, I’m starv- 
ing!” And Clarence took a few steps with 
some difficulty. 

John Rieler thought quickly, dressing rap- 
idly as he did so. 

“I’ll tell you what,” he said earnestly. “You 
come with me till we get to Campion College. 
I’d like to bring you in myself ; but I don’t see 
how I can do it without getting into trouble. 
Come on now; you’re cold, aren’t you?” 

“Numb to the bone.” 

“Here take my coat till we get to the Col- 
lege. There — that’ll warm you up some. Can 
you run?” 

“I can try.” 

“That’ll warm you some more.” With this 
John Rieler put his arm about Clarence and 
swept him up the shore. 

Clarence was exhausted ; but the strong arm 
of the boy held him securely and so the twain 
made their way at a brisk trot. 

“Now, look here,” said Rieler as they 
reached the end of* the street, and stood within 
a few feet of the Campion faculty residence, 
“you give me that coat; I’m going in by the 


132 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


back way. You walk straight on to where you 
see those steps. You go up those steps and 
ring the bell. The Brother will come, and you 
just tell him you’re hungry and you want to 
see the Rector. Good-bye. Don’t tell any- 
one you saw me. My name’s John Rieler. 
Now he sure and do just what I tell you and 
keep mum.” 

“Thank you. I — I can’t talk. Good-bye.” 

When the Brother-porter came to the door 
in response to the bell a moment later, he 
jumped back at sight of the apparition in the 
blue swimming suit. 

^"Ach Himmeir he exclaimed, clasping his 
hands. The Brother was not an Irishman. 

“Please, sir, I’m hungry and I want to see 
the Rector.” 

“Come — this way.” 

Following his startled and disturbed guide, 
Clarence was escorted into the parlor. 

“Sit down while I go for the Rector,” and 
saying something that sounded like "'Grosser 
Gottf^ the Brother left Clarence shivering in a 
chair and surveying his new surroundings. 

“Oh, Father Rector,” cried the porter as he 
opened the President’s door, “there’s a boy in 
the parlor who’s hungry and wants to see you.” 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


133 


The Reverend Rector, busy with the morn- 
ing’s mail, raised his head and said: 

“A new pupil, I suppose.” 

“I — I — think not,” answered the Brother, 
fidgeting upon his feet. 

“Why, what are you so excited about?” 

“He — he’s dressed only in a swimming suit. 
It’s blue.” 

“Oh, he is. Well, at any rate,” said the 
Rector, inscrutable of face, “he’s brought his 
trunks along.” 

“No, Father, he’s brought nothing but his 
swimming suit.” 

“Exactly; he’s brought his trunks along. 
Think about it. Brother, and you’ll see I’m 
right.” 

The good Brother has thought about it many 
a time since that day. He does not see it yet. 

When, a few moments later, the President 
of Campion College stepped into the parlor, he, 
too, prepared though he had been, was startled 
beyond measure. He did not, however, mani- 
fest any sign of his feelings. Long experience 
in boarding schools had given him the power 
of preserving stoical immobility under circum- 
stances no matter how extraordinary. 

It was not, as he had expected, a boy in a 


134 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


bathing suit that confronted his gaze, but a 
creature wrapped from head to foot, Indian- 
like, in a table covering, predominantly red, 
appropriated, as was evident, from the center- 
table of the parlor. 


CHAPTER XII 


In which Clarence relieves the reader of all 
possible doubts concerning his ability as a 
trencherman, and the Reverend Rector of 
Campion reads disastrous news. 

nn HROwiNG up the window-shades, the Presi- 
dent hurried over to the boy, who had 
arisen at his entrance, and took a sharp look 
at the blue lips and the pallid face. 

“Sit down,” he said, “and wait till I come 
back.” 

Father Keenan, who at that time happened 
to be President of Campion College, bolted 
from the room — a most undignified thing for 
a Rector to do. On his way out, he detected 
hanging on a chair in the obscurest corner of 
the parlor the dripping “trunks” which were 
still puzzling the good porter. That much- 
perturbed man was standing outside in antici- 
pation of further orders. 

“Brother, go to the refectory and tell the 
refectorian to get up a quick breakfast for a 
hungry boy. Then go to the clothes-keeper 
and get a complete outfit of clothes for a four- 
135 


136 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


teen-year-old and have them in the parlor inside 
of ten minutes. If the clothes-keeper says he 
hasn’t any, tell him to steal them.” 

The words were not well out of Father 
Keenan’s mouth when he was dashing along 
the corridor. The infirmary was close at hand, 
and the infirmarian in his office. 

“Here quick, drink this down,” cried the 
Rector a moment later, putting to the young 
Indian’s mouth a small glass of cognac. 

Clarence swallowed it at a gulp, whereupon 
while he coughed and choked and sputtered, 
the Rector, a veritable Good Samaritan, threw 
a heavy overcoat, which he had brought with 
him, over th^ flaming table cover. 

“Does it burn?” asked the Rector, referring 
not to the coat but the cognac. 

“I — I’m not a regular drinker,” said the 
youth wrapping the coat about him and break- 
ing into the ghost of his old smile. 

“This way, now,” continued Father Keenan, 
catching the boy’s arm; and he led him into 
the corridor. 

The boy’s steps were faltering, and the Rec- 
tor at once, noticing his weakness, caught him 
about the waist much as John Rieler had done, 
and bundled him into the refectory. 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


137 


“This way, Father,” said the refectorian, 
trying to look as though he were accustomed to 
feeding bare-legged boys attired in table-covers 
and winter overcoats in summer-time; and the 
“Squire,” as he was popularly known among 
the students of Campion, pointed to a seat in 
front of which waited a plate of toast, a juicy 
bit of beefsteak and a huge slice of corn- 
bread. 

At sight of the food, Clarence slipped from 
the Rector’s grasp and fell unbidden into the 
seat. 

For the next five minutes he showed that in 
the matter of eating he was perfectly able to 
take care of himself. 

The Rector and the Squire interrupted their 
observation of the much occupied youth by gaz- 
ing at each other now and then and exchanging 
smiles of wonder and admiration. 

“If you’re thinking of coming to school here, 
my boy,” observed the Rector, when Clarence 
had disposed of all the beefsteak and most of 
the toast and three-fourths of the cornbread, 
“I fancy we’ll have to board you on the Euro- 
pean plan.” 

Clarence lifted his eyes and smiled in his old 
way. 


138 CUPID OF CAMPION 

“Excuse haste and an empty stomach,’’ he 
said. 

The Rector laughed in a manner most 
undignified. In fact, he was so undignified, be 
it said, that everybody respected him. 

“What makes you so hungry?” he asked. 

“Because I Ve eaten nothing since ten o’clock 
yesterday morning.” 

“Where on earth have you been?” 

“I was with gypsies till yesterday evening; 
but I left without taking my supper.” 

“Who in the world are you?” 

“My name is Clarence Esmond. About a 
week ago I was over at McGregor — ” 

“Halloa!” cried the Rector. “Why, they’re 
dragging the river for you.” 

“They might as well stop ; it’s no use,” said 
Clarence, taking the last piece of toast and 
looking regretfully at the empty beefsteak 
dish. 

“My, but this is an adventure!” exclaimed 
the President. “So you’re not a moist corpse 
after all.” 

The Squire’s eyes were sticking out of his 
head. 

“If you were only dead,” he said to Clarence, 
“you’d be worth a thousand dollars to me.” 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


139 


“I’m sorry I can’t please everybody,” said 
the youth, taking up the last slab of cornbread. 
“Am I expected to apologize for being alive?” 

“Did you sleep last night?” continued the 
Rector. 

“How could I? I was in the river most of 
the time.” 

“But the river,” said the Rector, “has a very 
fine bed.” 

Clarence broke into laughter. 

“Thank you so much, sir,” he said, “I never, 
never, never enjoyed a meal so much in all my 
born days.” 

“You’re welcome,” said Father Keenan. He 
turned to the wide-eyed squire, adjuring that 
thoroughly excited yoimg man to go see 
whether the complete outfit of clothing were 
awaiting Clarence in the parlor. Their talk 
was brief ; but when Father Keenan turned to 
address Clarence, the lad’s head was sunk upon 
his breast. He was sound asleep. 

“Never mind about those clothes. Squire; or, 
rather, have them sent over to the infirmary.” 
Saying which. Father Keenan took Clarence, 
including table-cover and coat, in his arms, 
and conveyed him to the infirmary, where, 
warmly wrapped in a comfortable bed, he slept 


140 CUFIB OF CAMPION 

unbrokenly till after five o^clock in the after- 
noon. 

Returning to his room, the Rector took up 
the morning paper. In examining the mail, he 
had, when Clarence’s arrival interrupted him, 
noticed the large headlines announcing a 
dreadful railroad wreck in the west; a broken 
bridge, a Pullman sleeper and a passenger car 
immersed in a flooded river. Suddenly, as his 
eyes ran down the list of the missing, he gasped. 

For there in black type were the names of 
Mr. Charles Esmond, mining expert, and wife. 


CHAPTER XIII 


In which Clarence as the guest of Campion 
College makes an ineffectual effort to how out 
the Bright-Eyed Goddess of Adventure, 

T^ather George Keenan, while Clarence 
^ slept, was an unusually busy man. He 
telephoned, he wrote letters, he sent telegrams. 
All the machinery of communication was put 
into requisition. Within an hour the work of 
dragging the water near Pictured Rocks was 
discontinued; by noontime a telegram arrived 
saying that Mr. and Mrs. Esmond were still 
missing and were in all probability drowned 
or burned to death ; and early in the afternoon 
the proprietor of a hotel in McGregor arrived 
in person. The Esmonds had been at his place 
and had gone, leaving as their address “The 
Metropole,” Los Angeles, California. But 
alas, they had not reached their proposed des- 
tination. 

The hotel man was conducted by the Rector 
into the infirmary and brought to the side of 
the sleeping boy. He was breathing softly, 
141 


142 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


the roses had returned to his cheeks and his 
head was pillowed in his right hand.* 

“That’s him, all right,” said the hotel keeper 
after a brief survey. “I’d know him any- 
wheres. There ain’t many boys aroimd here 
got such rosy cheeks and such fair complex- 
ions. There ain’t many boys who’ve got such 
bright, fluffy hair, and I don’t know a single 
one who’s got his hair bobbed the way he has.” 

On returning to his room. Father Keenan 
opened a special drawer in his desk and sorted 
out from a bundle of papers an envelope with 
a post-mark indicating that it had reached him 
several days before. He took out the letter and 
read it again. 

“Dear Father Keenan: Probably you don’t 
remember me. I was a boy with you at St. 
Maure’s College — and a very poor boy at that. 
Other fellows had pocket money; I had none — 
most of the time. I hadn’t been there long 
when you ‘caught on,’ as we used to say. Dur- 
ing the five months we were together you 
seemed to know when I needed a nickel or a 
dime, and, in a way that was yours, you man- 
aged to keep me supplied. I say it was your 
way, for you got me to take the money as 
though I were doing you a favor. The amount 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


143 


you gave me must have been six or seven dol- 
lars, all told; and I really don’t think I had 
sense enough at the time to understand how 
really kind you were. Many years have 
passed, and the older I get, the more grateful I 
feel. Up to a few years ago, I had lost track 
of you completely. I didn’t know even that 
you had become a Jesuit. Well, Father 
George, I happened to see in our Catholic 
paper last week that you were Rector of Cam- 
pion College, a boarding school. If you are 
one-tenth as kind to the boys under your care 
as you were to me, you’ll be just the sort of 
President needed in such a place. The memory 
of our days in St. Maure’s has helped me to live 
a good life and to practice my faith, surrounded 
though I be with enemies of the Church. There 
are three Catholic families here in a population 
of three thousand. God has blessed me in my 
business. I have my own home, a loving wife 
and five of the nicest children in the State of 
Missouri. Also, to speak of things more ma- 
terial, a grain store and a comfortable bank 
account. 

‘T am sending you with this a check for one 
hundred dollars, payment on your loans of 
pocket money with compound interest, and 


144 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


then some. Of course, you may do with the 
money as you please. But if I may make a 
a suggestion — don’t think me sentimental — it 
would please me if you were to put aside forty 
or fifty dollars of it to help out some poor boy 
in the way of clothes, books, and pocket money. 

“In sending you this I do not wish you to 
consider our account closed. So long as God 
continues to bless and prosper me, I intend 
sending you from time to time — every quarter, 
I trust — a like donation. May the money I 
send do as much good as you did me. 

“I still remember the old boys of our day 
affectionately. Nearly all of them were kind 
to me. One in particular, a black-haired, dark- 
complexioned, mischievous little fellow, who 
was full of heart, I can never forget. I never 
met him but he sent me off supplied with candy. 
His name was Tom Playfair. What’s become 
of him? 

“Pray for me, dear Father George, and 
especially for my wife, who is an angel, and 
our children, who promise to be worthy of their 
mother. My love and my gratitude go with 
this letter. 

“Sincerely and gratefully, 

“John S. Wilcox.” 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


145 


“Strange!” meditated the Rector. “I just 
remember Wilcox ; but I do not remember ever 
having given him a cent. Anyhow, I see my 
way to spend that fifty dollars as he suggests. 
Poor Esmond is an orphan, I fear. Well, the 
money goes to him.” 

On getting word at half-past five o’clock that 
Master Esmond was awake and calling for 
food. Father Keenan hastened to the infirmary. 

Clarence, fully dressed in a “purloined” set 
of clothes, was seated at a table and vigorously 
attacking a large slab of cornbread, a dish of 
hash, and a plate of pancakes. In the attack, 
executed with neatness and dispatch, and in 
which the youth played no favorites, Clarence 
had already aroused the amused admiration of 
the Brother Infirmarian. 

“How do you do. Father Rector?” cried the 
boy, rising and bowing. “I feel able now to 
tell you that I’m grateful to you beyond words 
for your kindness. Your breakfast was the 
best breakfast ever served, that bed I slept on 
the softest, this supper the finest I could get, 
and the Brother, who’s been waiting on me as 
though I were the Prodigal Son is as kind and 
hospitable as though he took me for an angel.” 

“Nobody would take you for an angel who 


146 CUPID OF CAMPION 

saw you eating,’’ said the big Brother with a 
chuckle. 

‘‘How do you feel, my boy?” asked the Rec- 
tor, as, catching Clarence by the shoulders, he 
forced him back into his seat. 

“Feel? I feel like a morning star. I feel 
like a fighting-cock.” 

“Ready, I suppose, for any sort of adven- 
ture?” 

Clarence laid down his knife and fork once 
more. 

“Adventure! Excuse me* I’ve got over 
that period of my life for good. No more 
adventures for me. Only a few days ago I 
came down the street of McGregor just crazy 
for adventure. I called her the bright-eyed 
goddess. I actually invoked her. I begged 
her to get out her finest assortment of adven- 
tures and show me. Well, she did. She got 
hold of me, and she didn’t let go till I got to 
bed here this morning. Oh, no. No more 
bright-eyed goddess for me. If I were to see 
her coming along the street, I’d duck into a 
back alley. I’m through with her ladyship 
for the rest of my natural life.” 

“Indeed?” said the Rector. 

Clarence was mistaken. The bright-eyed 
goddess was not done with him yet. 


CHAPTER XIV 


In which Clarence tells his story and gets the 
Reverend Rector to take a hand against the 
Bright-Eyed Goddess, 

“C UPPOSE,” suggested the College President, 
^ as Clarence with a sigh of satisfaction 
came to an end of his meal, “you tell us your 
story.” 

“It is a long one.” 

“Wait till I come back,” implored the Infir- 
marian. “I want to hear it. IVe been 
infirmarian in boarding college a great many 
years, but I’ve never yet seen any sick boy 
quite so healthy and with such an appetite as 
Clarence.” 

“Thank you for the compliment. Brother. 
I often feel like apologizing for that appetite 
of mine.” 

“Clarence,” said the Rector as the Infirma- 
rian went off with the empty dishes, “have you 
any relations, besides your father and mother, 
living?” 

“Just stacks of them, sir.” 

“Where are they?” 


147 


148 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


“There are some in England; a lot of them, 
on my mother’s side, in Ireland — and oh, yes. 
I’ve a cousin and his family in New York.” 

“Do you know the address of any of themf’ 

“I really don’t. You know I’ve been at 
Clermont Academy, a boarding school in New 
York State, since I was eleven, and I’ve lost 
track of all of them pretty much.” 

“What about your cousin in New York 
City?” 

“I do not even know where he lives. You 
see, he just came to this country from Ireland 
a month ago. He brought his family along, 
and they were still looking for a house when 
I last saw them three weeks ago.” 

“Anyhow, they’re in New York City?” 

“I think that’s pretty certain.” 

“Very good,” said the Rector, taking out a 
small memorandum book and making a note. 

“Well, let’s have that story,” cried the big 
Infirmarian, as he re-entered. He was eager 
as a small boy waiting his turn for the pie to 
come down the table. 

Clarence began with his departure from 
McGregor, the climb up and beyond Pictured 
Rocks, his long ride on the river, his encounter 
with the gypsies, his friendship for Ben, his 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


149 


long talks and walks with Dora, his troubles 
with Pete and his shrewish wife, his frequent 
swims in the river. 

“And,” he continued, “when I made up my 
mind to get away somehow or other, I was hard 
as nails ; I could swim for any length of time, 
it seemed to me, without losing my wind or my 
strength; and I could eat like a horse.” 

“We all know that,” said the Infirmarian. 

“And how did you manage to escape?” 

“It came about just the way I wanted. Yes- 
terday afternoon we pitched camp at a place 
right opposite a long island. I went in swim- 
ming and began to brag purposely to Ezra 
about what I could do. I let him know that I 
thought I could beat him. As a matter of fact, 
I really think I can. Ezra bit. He challenged 
me to race him to the island. That was just 
what I wanted. The old hag, Pete’s wife, came 
over and cursed me, just before Ben gave us 
the signal to go. But I didn’t mind that. 
Curses, like chickens, come home to roost, you 
know. 

“Well, at Ben’s word we plimged into the 
water, and I kept under till I thought I’d burst. 
When I came up, I was som^ distance down 
stream; and all the way over I kept drifting 


150 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


down. Of course, it looked as if it were not 
done on purpose — at least I think it did. By 
the time Ezra was within a few yards of the 
island almost straight across from where he had 
started, I was away down near the end of the 
island, almost or quite half a mile away. Then 
I began to pretend I was trying to swim 
upstream and couldn’t do it. When within 
five yards or so of the very end of the island 
where there were lots of willows and bushes, 
I started to splashing wildly as though I had 
lost my head. I turned towards the shore, gave 
one last look, and shouted, ‘Help! help!’ I’ll 
never forget what I saw in that moment. In 
front of the tent, Pete’s wife was standing 
with her hands — clawlike old talons — stretched 
out, palms down, as though she were trying to 
force me under water; near the edge of the 
river, Dora, in her white dress, was kneeling, 
and I could guess she was praying for me.” 

Clarence paused a moment. 

“Do you know,” he said gravely, “I feel now 
as I felt all last night, as though her prayers 
kept with me like an army of little angels. 
Tennyson says, ‘More things are wrought by 
prayer than this world dreams of.’ I knew 
the line over a year ago. Now I know the 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


151 


meaning. Anyhow, after giving that yell for 
help, I let myself sink and then, under the 
water, I got to those willows which I forgot 
to tell you were partly under water. It 
seemed to me as I felt my way from trunk to 
trunk that I’d explode if I didn’t get air. I’ve 
stayed under water many a time ; but I never 
stayed under so long before. When I did come 
to the surface, I came up cautiously, came face 
upward, so as to get just my eyes, my mouth, 
and, because I couldn’t help it, my nose out of 
water. It was all right. Between me and the 
gypsies was that clump of willows and I was 
in a little bay surrounded on three sides by 
trees and bushes. I lay on my back just long 
enough to get my breath, and kicked myself 
down till I came near the end of the inlet. 
Then I took a deep breath, and dived so as to 
get out beyond the island in the main current. 
The dive was a success. When I came up, I 
lay on my back with only my nose sticking out 
of the water and let the current carry me along 
until it grew dark.” 

“What were the gypsies doing?” asked the 
Brother Infirmarian. 

“I don’t know. I suppose they took it for 
granted I was drowned. You see, I wasn’t 


152 


CUPIB OF CAMPION 


such a bad actor, and I did my part all right; 
and besides, they are very superstitious and 
believe that Pete’s wife has all kinds of power. 
She told them I was to drown, and that made 
it doubly certain to them. From what I know 
of them, I guess Ben came over and searched 
for my body half the night.” 

“And what did you do when the dark came 
on?” asked the Rector. 

“I reversed myself and began swimming. 
After a while I got awful chilly; so I went to 
the bank and went through all sorts of Del- 
sarte movements to get warm. This took me 
from fifteen minutes to half an hour. Then I 
went in again and swam and floated till I felt 
I was freezing. I took to the shore again, and 
ran and jumped as long as I could, and that’s 
the way it went on the whole night. It was the 
longest night ever. Every minute got me hun- 
grier and chillier. I didn’t notice the hunger 
so much; but it seems to me that I’d never, 
never be warm again. Oh, wasn’t I glad when 
the dawn came, and didn’t I pray for a hot 
sun. When the sun did rise, I saw that I was 
getting near a big town, and I looked about 
for some place to land. Somehow, I couldn’t 
quite make up my mind.” 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


153 


‘'Why not?” asked the Rector. 

“I didn’t like the way I was dressed. Bath- 
ing suits are all right for the water, but for 
company — I may be all sorts of an idiot, but 
I’m not as nervy as the average summer girl. 
No decent boy is.” 

“Oh, Lord!” gasped the Rector. 

“I beg your pardon, sir?” 

“Go on, my boy.” 

“Well, I got past the city which, I saw on 
a sign at a boat landing, was Prairie du Chien, 
and — ^no, not quite past. A little after swim- 
ming under the bridge, I saw a building — a 
great big building that looked like a college. 
It was just beyond the railroad tracks, and it 
had a beautiful grove of trees just below the 
building itself. Right on the shore was a lot of 
weeds that had been cut and been lying there 
long enough to dry. There was nobody in 
sight, and so I slipped ashore and covered 
myself up in the weeds, and tried to get warm. 
I was there a long time ; and it was a long time 
before I began to get anyways warm. Oh, it 
was delicious that feeling of warmth coming 
back slowly but surely. Really, I’d have gone 
to sleep, only something else began to go 
wrong.” 


154 CUPID OF CAMPION 

‘‘Did the jiggers get you?’’ asked the 
Brother. 

“No; it wasn’t ants or jiggers or bugs of any 
kind. It was my little ‘tummy.” The warmer 
I got, the hungrier I got. If I had a thousand 
dollars then, I’d have handed it over gladly 
for a himk of bread. After a while, I forgot I 
had ever been cold, but I was famishing. So 
I threw off the weeds, put on my bathing suit, 
and started for that building. I was afraid of 
my life of being seen by women-folks, so I 
crawled and walked and crawled. It was slow 
work. Well, anyhow, I got to the fence lead- 
ing into those grounds and was just climbing 
over when down from the building came run- 
ning and dancing a whole raft of little girls!” 

“You struck St. Mary’s Academy, a board- 
ing school for girls,” said the Brother, sympa- 
thetically. The Rector’s face was buried in 
his handkerchief. He was not weeping. 

“One little devil — Oh, excuse me — one little 
double-pigtailed, blue-ribboned thing in the 
lead saw me and let out a yell. That got me 
going, and I jumped off that fence and 
sprinted for the river at the rate of one hundred 
yards in 9-4/5 seconds — at least, that’s what 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


155 


I thought I was doing, and the screams of aU 
those girls behind me helped me to keep up 
my clip to the end. I’m sure they thought I 
was a burglar.” 

“Anyhow,” said the Rector consolingly, 
“they won’t know you again.” 

“I should say not. After this I intend pay- 
ing visits in regulation costume. Well, then, 
I got into the river, clean blown. I was too 
tired to swim; so I just lay on my back, and 
paddled now and then with my feet. The cold 
got me again in a few minutes; my teeth began 
to chatter. Oh, it was awful. And then — then 
I swam and afterward began to lose all feeling, 
and then I lost consciousness and — I got here.” 

“Oh, most lame and impotent conclusion,” 
said the Rector eyeing the boy sharply. 
“You’ve left something out.” 

“So I have. Father, but I don’t think I have 
any right to tell the last part.” 

The Rector looked puzzled. 

“Very well,” he said presently. “Even as 
it is, it is a wonderful story. In fact, it’s a 
twentieth century romance. What was the 
last name of that child Dora?” 

“Well, I declare !” said the youth. “It never 


156 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


occurred to me to think she had another name. 
All I know is that she came from near Dayton, 
Ohio. Oh, what an ass I am.” 
the air of ‘My Country, ’tis of Thee,’” sug- 

“You might sing that opinion of yourself to 
gested the Infirmarian. “We call it the Siam- 
ese national hymn.” And he warbled slowly 
and solemnly to the well-known national air, 
the words, “O Vatana Siam.” “It will do you 
lots of good when you feel rather foolish.” 

Just then, and while Master Clarence began 
assuring himself in liquid notes of what an 
awful ass he was, there came a timid knock at 
the door. 

“Come in,” cried the Infirmarian. 

“Is Falher Rector in there?” came a much 
agitated voice, as the door opened a few inches 
without revealing who was without. 

“Excuse me,” said the Rector, leaving the 
two to sing as a duet “O Vatana Siam.” Every 
note of it and the entire sentiment filled Clar- 
ence with pure joy. 

Despite their long drawn and pathetic war- 
bling, the two within caught the sounds of 
earnest voices without. After singing the air 
with the self-same words nearly a dozen times, 
and coming at length to the invariable ending 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


157 


‘"Vatana Siamf" in the enunciation of which 
Clarence succeeded in outdoing all his previous 
efforts, the door suddenly opened, and the Rec- 
tor entered, bringing with him, very red and 
very confused. Master John Rieler. 

“Behold!” he cried, “your preserver, Clar- 
ence!” 

“Whoop!” cried the singer, jumping for- 
ward and almost throwing himself into Rieler’s 
arms. “You’ve told on yourself, have you?” 

“I had to-,” said John, shaking Clarence’s two 
hands. “When I got back to class I began to 
worry. It wasn’t the going out of bounds, and 
it wasn’t the swim. I guess that finding of you 
in the water got on my nerves. I wasn’t scared 
at the time; but the more I got thinking of it 
afterwards, the more scared I got. It seemed 
so odd. And then I had a lot to explain to the 
teacher, and I couldn’t do it. Anyhow, I 
couldn’t eat any supper.” 

“Oh, I say!” protested the Infirmarian, who 
happened to be well acquainted with Master 
Rieler’s efficiency as a trencherman. 

“It’s so, all the same. Honest to goodness !” 
protested the youth, his eyes and features 
expressing depths of astonishment at himself. 
“I just actually couldn’t eat.” He paused a 


158 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


minute and added wistfully. ‘‘I could now.” 

The Rector had put on his face of Indian 
immobihty. 

“John Rieler,” he said gravely, “there are 
two things to be considered in your conduct this 
morning. First, there is your going out of 
bounds and taking a swim without permission. 
Secondly, there’s your saving Clarence Es- 
mond from drowning. For the first, you -are 
to be punished.” 

“Father Rector,” protested John earnestly. 
“I’ll not do it again. I’ll never jump bounds 
any^ more this year. I missed Holy Commun- 
ion this morning, and it was a mistake. Right 
after supper, only a few minutes ago, I went 
to Confession, and I hope I’ll never miss a sin- 
gle day’s Communion till further notice.” 

“Your punishment,” continued the Rector 
slowly and impressively — 

“Oh, Father,” broke in Clarence in great 
alarm. 

“Your punishment,” repeated the Rector, 
looking sever ly at Clarence, “will be not to go 
in swimming on any account, on any pretext, 
with or without companions, from the first of 
December till the first of April.” 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


159 


“All right, Father,’’ said John, humbly. He 
was filled with a sense of the terrible penalty 
exacted of him till he noticed Clarence’s 
ecstatic grin. Then his mind fell to consider- 
ing the dates, and he grinned also. 

“As for saving Clarence’s hfe,” the Rector 
went on, “I don’t see well how I can reward 
you properly.” 

“I’m worth one thousand dollars, cold,” said 
Clarence. 

“Exactly,” said the Rector, “and the fact of 
your being alive does not depreciate your value 
entirely.” 

“No, not entirely,” assented the Brother, as 
though yielding a point. 

“Anyhow, I should hke to reward you, John. 
Now, is there anything occurs to you I can do 
for you?” 

“I’m awful hungry,” said John modestly. 

“Appetite,” observed the Rector, “waits on 
a good confession. Brother, can’t you set this 
boy up to something extra?” 

“Beefsteak and onions, cornbread, buttered 
toast?” cried the Infirmarian interrogatively. 

Master Rieler had no need to express himself 
in words. His face showed glad assent. 


160 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


“Come and join me, Clarence,” begged the 
hero of the day as he seated himself later to the 
“spread.” 

“Thank you; IVe had a good meal already,” 
answered Clarence, “but I’ll take just a little 
to keep you company.” 

His taking “a little” had such an effect 
upon the Infirmarian that after watching Clar- 
ence’s performance for a few minutes he could 
no longer contain himself. 

“Look here, Clarence! If you go on, you’ll 
swell up and bust.” 

“I’m not swelling so’s I can notice it,” 
returned Clarence cheerfully. 

Before leaving. Father Rector said: 

“Now, boys, I’m going to my room, and 
when you ha.ve finished your supper, I want 
you, John, to bring Clarence to see me. You 
will wait for him outside my door. Then I’m 
going to see the Prefect of Discipline and have 
you excused from studies tonight, so you can 
show Clarence around. 

There came a babble of enthusiasm from 
both boys. 

“And besides, while Clarence is our guest, 
you, John Rieler, are to be his host.” 


CUPIB OF CAMPION 


161 


“Oh, thank you, Father,” said John. 

“Do you mean to say. Father Rector, that 
I may stay here tonight?” asked Clarence. 

“Yes, my boy” — here the Rector’s voice and 
face, despite himself, gave hint of a great pity; 
“you are to be my guest till we’ve got every- 
thing fixed to see that you are placed in proper 
care.” 

“Isn’t he a trump!” cried Clarence as the 
Rector left. 

“Trump! I should say he is.” 

When Clarence was ushered by the proud 
young host to the Rector’s room, he was bade 
to sit down. 

“Well, Clarence, while you were sleeping, I 
was quite busy on your case. The hotel-man 
from McGregor was here and identified you.” 

“Yes?” 

“Yes, and I’ve sent out for all sorts of in- 
formation.” 

“But, why don’t you wire my father?” 

“The trouble is, Clarence, we don’t know 
where he is.” 

“He’s at the Metropole Hotel, Los Angeles, 
said Clarence. “The hotel-man could have 
told you that.” 


162 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


“No, Clarence,” said the Rector trying to 
speak casually, “the train did not get there 
yet.” 

“Was it delayed?” 

“Yes. In fact, there was a bad wreck. Some 
of the cars tumbled into the water.” 

“And did anything happen to my mother 
and father?” 

“I hope not. The only thing, my boy, we 
know is that they are missing. Anyhow, they 
are not listed among the injured or the dead. 
Here, sit down and look over this account in 
the paper.” 

The Rector discreetly placed himself in such 
a position that he could not see the boy’s face. 
Clarence read, and after a few lines could not 
go on ; tears bhnded his eyes. F or ten minutes, 
while the Rector busied himself writing letters, 
the boy wept, although making pretense of 
reading. 

“This is awful. Father,” Clarence at length 
said. 

“Have hope, Clarence. God has taken 
wonderful care of you today.” 

“Indeed, He has.” 

“Trust Him, and keep on hoping. As to all 
details, leave them to me. If there’s anything 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


163 


to be found out, I’ll get hold of it. In the 
meantime, you are the guest of Campion Col- 
lege. Here’s some change — pocket money. 
You know, you’ll have to treat John Rieler. 
And tomorrow you’ll be fitted out with what 
clothes you need. God bless you, my boy.” 

“Father, you’re too good. Say, won’t you 
bless me — give me a priest’s blessing — the kind 
I’ve read about in books.” 

“Certainly, Clarence.” 

The boy fell on his knees, and over him 
stretched the Rector’s hands in a fervent bene- 
diction. 

As Clarence went down the stairs with John, 
he said: “Say, John Rieler, I got some bad 
news and I felt sick all over. And do you 
know what happened ? The Rector blessed me, 
and now I could stand anything.” 


CHAPTER XV 


In which Clarence begins to admire Campion 
College, and becomes the room-mate of a very 
remarkable young man, as the sequel will clear- 
ly show. 

^^T~\ o YOU know where you are going to sleep 
to-night, Clarence?” asked John, as the 
two boys, after a long walk on the Bridgeport 
road, were returning to Campion. 

“No; where?” 

“You’re going to have the finest room in the 
house.” 

“Indeed! Where is it?” 

“You see our new classroom building, don’t 
you?” 

“It seems to me I do.” 

“Well, they say that’s the finest building of 
its kind in the West. On the fourth fioor there 
are twenty-one or twenty-two rooms for a few 
boys in the college department. All of those 
rooms are reasonably large, but there is one big 
enough for two. There it is — at the south- 
eastern corner. It has a window on the east 
and two looking south. Two brothers live in 

164 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


165 


it, Will and John Benton. John hasn’t come 
back to school yet ; he’s not well — and so Will 
has it to himself, and to-night you are going 
to have John’s bed.” 

“Is Will Benton all right?” 

“All right ! Say, he’s in the senior class, and 
he’s Prefect of the Sodality, and the best all- 
round athlete, and the best pitcher on the col- 
lege team. All right! He’s the best boy in 
the college; and he goes to Communion every 
day. That’s nothing out of the way here. 
Lots of our boys do that. But Will Benton 
keeps it up in vacation time, too.” 

“That’s funny,” mused Clarence. “In the 
last few days I’ve begun to meet Catholics. 
The first one I met was that little girl, Dora. 
She began her kidnaping story by telling me 
she used to go to Communion every day till 
she fell into the hands of the gypsies. Then 
you yank me out of the water, and when the 
Rector says he is going to punish you, up you 
speak and tell him you’re going to Communion 
every day. And now, I suppose you’re going 
to bring me up to introduce me to Will Benton, 
and he goes to Communion every day.” 

“Yes; we’re going up now, for it’s nearly 
bedtime. Most of us go to Communion every 


166 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


day, you know, to help us keep from sin. And 
it does, too. A boy who knows he’s going to 
Communion to-morrow is mighty careful 
about what he says and what he listens to.” 

“I am beginning,” said Clarence, “to be 
quite pleased with the Catholic Church.” 

“I’m sure the Church,” retorted John, “will 
be proud and happy to know it has gained 
your approbation.” 

“Seriously,” said Clarence, “I’ve changed 
my ideas completely since I met Dora. If 
she’s a specimen of the Catholic Church, I 
want to join.” 

“What! Aren’t you a Catholic?” 

“No. Who knows but I may be some day?” 

“I thought you were a Catholic all along. 
Here w eare,” continued John, as they entered 
the classroom building. “Let’s go up quietly. 
The boys are in the study hall now. Say,” he 
added, gleefully, as they reached the second 
story, “look in there; just see what I’m mis- 
sing.” 

“What a big hall!” exclaimed Clarence. 

“Everything in this building is big,” said 
Jolm with conscious pride; “the playroom and 
the dormitory and the classrooms, and the 
science department they’re all big.” 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


167 


“I think,” replied Clarence, “that, from your 
description, the place will suit me perfectly. 
In fact, IVe a mind to buy it. Name your 
price.” 

“For a fellow who arrives at Campion Col- 
lege in a bathing suit and nothing else, you’ve 
got the most wonderful nerve. Ah! here we 
are. This is your room for the night.” 

“Come in,” said a rumbling voice in answer 
to John’s knock. 

“I’ve brought him. Will. Here’s the hoy 
who came to College down the river, Clarence 
Esmond.” 

“Welcome, Clarence. You’re to be my 
guest for to-night and so long as you choose 
the room is yours. I’ve heard something of 
your story; in fact, everybody knows how you 
got here. I hope you’ll enjoy every minute of 
your stay.” 

Will was a ruddy-cheeked young man of 
fully six feet, with tremendous shoulders and 
chest, and a voice that would compete, not 
without hope of victory, with a bass drum. 
His smile alone was enough to win him 
friends. 

“Glad to meet you. Will,” said Clarence. 
“John here has been telling me all about you. 


168 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


He says you’re Prefect of the Senior Sodality. 
What does that mean ?” 

“Aren’t you a Catholic?” 

“No.” 

“Well, the Sodality is organized to honor the 
Blessed Mother of God, by getting its mem- 
bers to lead a good Catholic life and by doing 
good works. The Prefect is the leading officer; 
and he’s supposed, though it may not be always 
the case, to have special love for Mary and to 
show it in his life.” 

“By George,” said Clarence, “here it is 
again. The first Catholic I ever met to talk 
with was a little girl with the gypsies, and al- 
most as soon as she and I got to talking to- 
gether, she began telling me about the Blessed 
Mother and singing her praises.” 

“Was the girl a gypsy?” asked Will. 

“No; she was captured in Ohio during the 
flood, last May.” 

“Oh; that awful flood!” said Will, his cheer- 
ful grin deserting him. “I lost my little sister 
in that flood, too.” 

“Are you from Ohio?” 

“Yes, and my sister’s body wasn’t recovered 
till two weeks after she was drowned. Well, 
let’s change the subject. I hate to think of it.” 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


169 


Within an hour Will Benton and Clarence 
had become fast friends. Within another, the 
much-wandering youth, satisfied that his ad- 
ventures were over, had fallen into a dreamless 
sleep, little suspecting the amazing events that 
the morrow was destined to bring. 


CHAPTER XVI 


In which the Bright-eyed Goddess comes to 
bat again, and promises to win the! game. 

A PILLOW flung by the accurate arm of Will 
Benton early the following morning 
caught the sleeping visitor on the head. 

“Eh, what is it?” cried Clarence, sitting up. 

“It’s sunrise, boy. Just look out that win- 
dow and see how beautiful the new-born day 
can be when it wants to.” 

“ ‘Night’s candles are burnt out, and jocund 
day 

Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain top.’ ” 

And as Clarence quoted the well-known 
lines, he jumped from bed and slipped quickly 
int ohis clothes. 

“You read Shakespeare?” asked Benton, 
rubbing his eyes. 

“Of course; I’ve been reading him off and 
on for the last two years. Say, what comes 
next?” 

“We have morning prayers and Mass in a 
few minutes. Would you like to attend?” 

170 


CUPID OF CAMPION 171 

“I certainly would. Dora explained to me 
a lot about the Mass.” 

‘‘Dora?” 

“Yes; that was the little girl’s name.” 

“Strange!” murmured Benton. “Well, 
hurry on now. Here’s a prayer-book with the 
parts of the Mass marked out. You may use 
it, if you wish.” 

Clarence was profoundly impressed by what 
he saw in the chapel. The boys — full, in or- 
dinary, of mischief and life — were going about 
their devotions in earnest. 

Clarence was seated next to John Rieler. 
That youth, when he was not singing lustily 
with the others, had his face buried in his 
prayer-book. Religion, Clarence perceived, 
entered intimately into the lives of nearly all 
these boys. 

He was escorted by Rieler to breakfast, 
where he inspired much respect among the 
boys of the particular table at which he sat by 
his workmanlike way of getting through with 
the dishes served him. 

The morning was devoted to shopping. At- 
tended by the Brother Infirmarian, Clarence 
went to the city proper of Prairie du Chien, 
where in the course of an hour he was pro- 


172 CUPID OF CAMPION 

vided with a complete outfit of shoes and cloth- 
ing. 

After a hearty dinner, John Rieler brought 
Clarence out upon the campus. 

“Say!” the youngster said, admiringly, “you 
ought to send this campus on east. Lots of 
our colleges would be willing to buy it. It’s 
one big level — acres and acres of it — and all 
you’ve got to do is to walk out of your class- 
room building, and you’re right on it. At the 
academy I went to, we used to go around to a 
good many other schools in the baseball and 
the football season ; but I must say I never saw 
a campus anything near so good as this, and 
only one or two as handy.” 

“We’re thinking of taking out a patent on 
it, and we are rather proud of it. The only 
thing is that we find it quite hard to live up to 
such a fine campus.” 

“Say, this is a funny school,” Clarence re- 
marked. A number of the smaller boys were 
now gathered about him. They had heard of 
his tremendous swim down the river and of his 
escape from the gypsies, and made little at- 
tempt to conceal their admiration. In fact — 
a very unusual thing — they insisted upon be- 
ing introduced. 


CUPIB OF CAMPION 


17a 


“What’s funny about our school?” inquired 
one of the boys when Clarence had shaken 
hands with each and all. 

“Why, you study here!” 

“Study! What did you expect?” asked 
Rieler. “This isn’t exactly a health resort. 
All the same, study is no interruption to 
games. We manage to get a good deal in dur- 
ing each day.” 

“This is our half holiday and we’re going to 
have a game of ball at two,” said a stocky youth 
with a freckled face and a substantial smile, 
“and the shortstop on our team is going down 
town to have his picture taken or some such 
foolishness. Will you help us out?” 

“Delighted,” said Clarence. “I’ve played 
several positions, but shortstop is my favorite.” 

Clarence, from the very outset of the game 
realized that he was the hero of the hour. Near- 
ly all of the junior division boys not engaged 
in the game chose to be spectators. 

Clarence rose to the occasion. The second 
batter up of the opposing team sent him a 
sharp grounder. He captured it on a very 
ugly bound, whirled it to the second baseman, 
who in turn threw it to first. It resulted in 
a pretty double play. 


174 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


Then the onlooking small boys broke into 
cheers and yells, making at the same time lively 
demonstrations with legs and arms. 

“Gee!” exclaimed an enthusiast near third 
base. “I hope he’ll stay here.” 

On coming to bat, Clarence sent a liner over 
second, and reaching first, kept right on while 
the center fielder was throwing the ball in. 
When, a moment later, Clarence stole third 
and came in on an out at first, the storm of ap- 
plause broke out again. 

“Take off your hat,” said Rieler to the run- 
getter. 

“Shucks!” said Clarence. “Say, here comes 
Will Benton, and he looks excited.” 

“Hey, Clarence,” shouted Benton as soon as 
he was within hailing distance, “Father Rector 
wants you at once. It’s important and he says 
you’re to bring John Rieler along, too.” 

For the first and only time in his life. Master 
Clarence surrendered his place in a ball contest 
willingly. Even Rieler, who next to swimming 
loved the national game, called with alacrity 
for a substitute. 

“Hang baseball,” he said recklessly, as ac- 
companied by Clarence and Will, he hastened 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


175 


toward the Rector’s room. “We can play that 
any fine day. But it’s nice to be with you, 
Clarence Esmond. I’ve a feeling that when 
I’m with you there’s something going to 
happen.” 

“You may be only half in earnest, Rieler,” 
said Will Benton; “but the fact is I’ve got the 
same feeling myself. My firm belief is that 
Master Clarence’s bright-eyed goddess of ad- 
venture hasn’t lost her grip on her young 
victim yet. She’s got him hoodooed.” 

“See here, you fellows,” remonstrated Clar- 
ence, “talk about something pleasant. What 
I want is a quiet life.” 

“You’ll get a quiet life — somewhere, some 
day,” said Benton, “but I’ve a feehng in my 
bones that you’re not out of the woods yet.” 

“I feel just that way, too,” added Rieler. 

The Reverend Rector dressed in his street 
clothes was awaiting them at the entrance to 
the faculty building. 

“Ah, Clarence,” he said, “are you ready for 
another adventure?” 

“Anything but that. Father.” 

“Oh yes, you are.” 

“Never again, Father.” 


176 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


“Very well; if that’s the case, we’ll drop it,” 
and the Rector assumed a look of disappoint- 
ment. 

“Drop what, Father?” 

“Nothing much. You know, I’ve had the 
station agents about the river line to be on the 
lookout for that gypsy camp. We’ve got them 
located, or at least we know about where they 
are.” 

“And,” cried Clarence, growing very red, 
“we’ve got a chance to save Dora?” 

“That was my idea,” said Father Keenan. 
“I thought you were interested in the girl. 
But of course, if you don’t care for any more 
adventures ” 

“Oh, Father, I take it back. I’d lose an arm 
or a leg — I’d lose anything to save that poor 
little child from the hands of Pete.” 

“Ah!” said the Rector, “you really don’t 
know what you want sometimes. Now, boys, 
there’s a machine awaiting us at the side of this 
house, and if you would like to go, Rieler 

“Like it! I’d not miss it for ten years of my 
life,” cried Rieler, ecstatically. 

“And you. Will Benton? We may need 
your strong arm.” 

“Father Rector, I consider this invitation! 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


177 


the greatest privilege youVe ever granted me, 
and goodness knows youVe been giving me 
every favor you could since I came to Campion. 
Clarence has told me a good deal about that 
little girl-saint, and I’d do anything to save 
her.” 

The four knights-errant had by this time 
taken their places in the automobile. Father 
Keenan gave the chauffeur a few words of in- 
struction, and with a speed exceeding the limit 
allowed in any known State, county, city, or 
village of the United States the machine shot 
down Minnesota Avenue. 

“Now, listen, boys,” said Father Keenan, as 
they swept past the Bohemian Catholic 
Church. “Yesterday, I got the local station 
agent, who is a very good friend of mine, to 
make inquiries northward about any gypsies 
who might be seen. Just a few minutes ago 
he sent me word that a message had come from 
Lynxville, to the effect that a party of gypsies 
had camped three miles below that village.” 

“What time did he get the message?” asked 
Clarence. 

“Just at a quarter past two,” said the Rector, 
“and he sent the news within fifteen minutes of 
the gypsies’ arrival there. A friend of his hap- 


178 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


pened to be automobiling, saw the gypsies 
pitch tent, and hurried at once to let him 
know.” 

“If they camped at two,” said Clarence, 
“they’ll probably stay for their noon-day meal, 
and won’t start off till half past three or four. 
Can we get there before then?” 

Father Keenan looked at his watch. 

“I’m afraid not,” he said. “It’s now twenty 
minutes to three. Who knows? If our chauf- 
feur keeps up this clip, we may catch them.” 

“And when we do catch ’em,” asked Rieler, 
“what are we going to do with ’em?” 

“How many men are in the crowd, Clar- 
ence?” asked the Rector. 

“Let’s see. There’s Ben, but you needn’t 
coimt him. He’ll be with us if it comes to a 
row. Then there’s Pete, the leader, his two 
grown sons, and Ezra. Just four in all.” 

“I rather think,” said the Rector, “that we 
can manage things without getting the sheriff 
of Lynxville to come to our help with a posse.” 

“Sure thing,” exclaimed John Rieler, his 
eyes dancing with enthusiasm. “I’m only six- 
teen myself, but I’m feeling pretty good, and 
I would like to tackle Pete.” 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


179 


“I’ve whipped Ezra once,” cried Clarence, 
forgetting his avowed distaste for adventure, 
“and I feel pretty sure I can do it again.” 

“I don’t want to blow,” said the brawny 
muscular giant who was Prefect of the So- 
dality, “but I really think I’d like to tackle 
those two older sons of Pete myself.” 

“And where do I come in?” asked the 
Rector. 

“You’ve got the worst job of all. Father,” 
said Clarence, grinning. You’ll have to take 
care of Pete’s wife. For myself, I’d as soon 
fight a bunch of wild-cats. I think she’s pos- 
sessed by the devil.” 

“Well, boys,” said the Rector after a 
moment’s reflection, and with a certain tone of 
regret, “I’m not a fighting man. My cloth 
forbids it. If possible, we must get Dora with- 
out striking a blow.” 

John Rieler sighed like an auto in full speed 
with the muffler open. 

“We’re going to get Dora anyhow,” pleaded 
Benton. 

“Oh, yes; we’ll get her, no doubt. Now 
here’s the way we’ll go about it. When we 
arrive at the camp, Clarence and John Rieler 


180 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


and myself will visit the gypsies. You, Will 
Benton, will remain in the automobile with the 
chauffeur.” 

“Father, won’t you please let me in on this?” 
pleaded the chauffeur, opening his mouth for 
file first time. “If there’s any fighting to be 
done, I’d like to have a chance.” 

“But we’re not looking for a fight,” persisted 
the Rector, who was clearly on the unpopular 
side. “Anyhow the three of us will visit the 
gypsies, and I’ll do the talking. It is my in- 
tention to ask for the release of Dora, and, if 
refused, try to scare the gypsies into giving her 
up. While I’m talking I’ll take stock of their 
forces. If I see that we’ll have to fight for it, 
I’ll raise my hand — my right hand — so.” 

And the Rector raised a closed hand with 
the index finger pointing upward. “That will 
mean, Benton, that you are to put on all speed 
for Lynxville, get the sheriff and one other 
man without delay. But if I see my way to 
getting the girl without a fight. I’ll raise both 
hands upwards, and that means that you two 
are to step out of the machine and join us.” 

“All right. Father,” said Will. “But I 
think we can fix things without any sheriff.” 

During the conversation the machine had 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


181 


been whizzing past hamlet, field and forest. 
Not once since leaving Prairie du Chien had 
their speed lessened. 

“Now, boys,” said the Rector, after the lapse 
of several minutes, “we’re getting pretty near 
the place. Suppose we keep silent. Go slowly, 
now, chauffeur, and make as little noise as pos- 
sible. And while we’re silent, let us all say a 
little prayer that we may succeed.” 

The machine went forward slowly, cautious- 
ly. Clarence noticed the lips of John Rieler 
moving. Will Benton had removed his hat 
and sat with head bowed. Several minutes 
passed in perfect silence. Then the Rector 
touched the chauffeur’s arm. The machine 
stopped. 

“Look,” whispered the Rector, pointing 
toward an open space on the river’s edge. 

All turned eagerly. 

A little tent — Dora’s tent — rose within 
thirty yards of them; only the one tent — ^noth- 
ing more. 


CHAPTER XVII 

In which one surprise follows so closely upon 
the heels of another that Masters Esmond and 
Rieler lose power of speech and Will Benton 
strikes a blow which will live forever in the tra- 
ditions of Campion College. 

“T^ollow me — quietly,” whispered Father 
Keenan to the two boys, Clarence and 

John. 

In single file the three threaded their way 
through the shrubbery. Suddenly the Rector 
paused, and put his finger to his lips. 

“Listen,” he said. 

“Ben,” came a clear, sweet voice,” do you 
believe everjdhing that the Catholic Church be- 
lieves and teaches?” 

There was a response pitched so low that the 
listeners as they pressed steadily forward failed 
to hear it. 

“And do you forgive all who have injured 
you?” 

Clarence thought he could detect Ben’s voice 
saying — “Yes, yes: I do.” 

“And do you forgive Pete?” 

182 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


183 


“Yes, from my heart.” The three were now 
quite near and the deeper voice of Ben could 
clearly be heard. 

“And, Ben,” continued the silvery voice, 
“you wish to die a Cathohc?” 

“I do— I do.” 

“And to be baptized?” 

“Yes, Dora.” 

“You must know, Ben, that when no priest 
can be had, anyone may, in case of necessity, 
baptize. Now, I am going to the river for 
water; and while I’m gone tell God that you 
are sorry for your sins.” 

Suddenly, the flap of the tent was thrown 
hack, and Dora, like some heavenly apparition, 
stood revealed. Her face was stained with 
tears. For the rest, she was in modesty, in 
expression in dress — blue and white — a Child 
of Mary. 

“Dora,” cried Clarence, no longer able to 
contain himself. “O, Clarence,” cried the child 
throwing herself into his arms. “Pete has 
killed Ben. He stabbed him an hour ago, be- 
cause Ben defended the statue of our Blessed 
Mother from Pete and his wife. They were 
going to burn it.” 

“Dora,” said Clarence, “there’s a priest 
here.” And he pointed to Father Keenan. 


184 


CUPIB OF CAMPION 


“O, thank God! thank God! He has sent 
you to prepare Ben/’ and the child threw her- 
self at Father Keenan’s feet, and in all rever- 
ence, kissed his hand. 

The practical Father Keenan, as she did so, 
took the glass from her fingers, and handed 
it to Rieler. 

“Run to the river, John, and get some 
water.” Then raising Dora kindly, and throw- 
ing his hands above his head, the preconcerted 
signal, the Rector hastened into the tent. 

“Dora! Dora!” came a deep voice as the girl 
was about to follow the priest. 

Clarence turned. Will Benton, pale as a 
sheet, his eyes starting from their sockets, was 
hastening toward them. He was holding out 
his arms toward the girl, amazement and in- 
credulity upon his face. 

Dora turned. An astounding change came 
at once upon her face at sight of Will Benton. 
Pure joy irradiated it. 

“O Will! my dear Brother Will,” she cried; 
and darting forward threw herself into his out- 
stretched arms. 

“But,” cried Will, as he caught her up and 
pressed her to his bosom,” you were drowned. 
We buried you.” 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


185 


“No, you didn’t, Will. Thanks to our 
Blessed Mother, I was saved. A gypsy saved 
me. Will; and now he’s dying in my tent, dying 
because he gave his life to save me from the 
gypsy leader and to preserve our Blessed 
Mother’s statue from insult. Come, Will, let 
us see him before he dies.” 

Clarence and J ohn Rieler, grouped together 
and holding each others hands, stood stock-still 
gazing open mouthed. They looked at each 
other, as Will and Dora made for the tent, with 
unutterable awe. Speech was inadequate ; and 
still linked together they followed the brother 
and sister within. 

On Dora’s couch, above him the dear statue 
for which he had given his life, lay Ben, the 
sweat and the pallor of death upon his face. 
On one side, his wife was staunching vainly a 
gash in his side. On the other, leaned the 
Rector, talking earnestly in low tones to the dy- 
ing man. No king could have been more state- 
ly in life than was Ben in his dying moments. 
No saint could have been more humble. 
Crouching in one corner, wide-eyed and silent, 
were Ben’s three little children. 

“Are all here?” asked the Rector rising and 


186 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


gazing around. “I want you all to see Ben 
baptized.’’ 

“O dear Ben, we are all here and we all love 
you,” cried Dora. “And here’s my brother 
Will, come to see you, too. Will, Ben has been 
so good to me. I love him as though he were 
another father. 

The dying man turned dark, wistful eyes to 
the big brother. 

“Will you forgive me? I love Dora,” he 
said simply. 

“And I love anyone that is kind to my 
sister,” boomed forth Will Benton’s hearty 
voice. “Your hand, Ben. May God be as 
good to you as you have been to her.” 

“Clarence,” cried the dying man, “will you 
forgive me too. I have been bad, I am sorry.” 

Clarence essayed to speak, but before he 
could enunciate a syllable fell to blubbering. 
But he caught Ben’s hand and fondled it. 

“I am glad I was stabbed,” said Ben simply, 
“in trying to save that statue of the very good 
woman who was the mother of God, I believe. 
I want to be baptized.” 

John Rieler was dabbing his eyes. 

“Let all kneel down,” said the Rector. 

Even the gypsy children, following the ex- 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


187 


ample of Dorcas, fell upon their knees, and 
then, the priest pouring water on Ben’s head 
said solemnly, “I baptize thee in the name of 
the Father and of the Son and of the Holy 
Ghost.” 

Dora slipped over and pressed her lips to the 
newly regenerated one’s brow. Dorcas fol- 
lowed the child’s example and, turning to the 
priest, said : 

‘‘Father, baptize me and my children.” 

“Not yet, my child,” said Father Keenan. 
“Wait a little longer, so it can be done in 
church. “Boys, kneel down, while we say the 
prayers for the dying.” 

Suddenly Ben raised his head. 

“Clarence and Dora,” he cried. 

“Yes,” answered both coming to his bedside. 

“Take care of Dorcas, my wife, and my chil- 
dren. Make them good Catholics.” 

“Yes, Ben,” said Dora. 

“Yes, Ben,” said Clarence. 

“O,” said the poor fellow — poor, that is ac- 
cording to the world’s standard — “how happy 
I am. I am ready to ” 

He fell back unconscious. 

The Rector who had taken out his “Excerpts 
from the Roman Ritual,” began, at once, the 


188 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


Litany of the Dying. Before the final invoca- 
tion was uttered, Ben, the simple, the loving, 
the repentant, breathed his last. 

‘‘Let all leave the tent,” said Father Keenan, 
on coming to an end of the prayers for the dy- 
ing, “except the wife and the children. Wait 
for me without. I will be with you in a few 
minutes.” 

Dora, weeping freely, caught her big broth- 
er’s arm. Clarence and John followed the two. 
There was, quite near the river, an avenue 
formed by nature, a clear space of nearly a 
hundred yards in length, bounded on the river 
side by willows and cottonwoods with a dense 
growth of shrubbery below, on the other by 
majestic elms. Up and down this court of 
nature walked brother and sister followed by 
the two amazed boys. The stabbing of Ben, 
his beautiful death, the reuniting of brother 
and sister had come together so closely, one 
upon the heels of the other, that Clarence and 
John were almost speechless. When they did 
speak, it was in interjections. 

Will quickly comforted his little sister. His 
task was, indeed, not so difficult. News from 
home, news of the dear ones is to the exile one 
of the most engrossing things in the world. 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


189 


And it was all good news. Everyone was well, 
business was flourishing; the only sorrow that 
had fallen upon the family was the loss of Dora 
— and that sorrow was now turned into ex- 
quisite joy for Will, as it would be for his 
parents and the children when they received 
the good tidings by wire that very day. 

“And, Will,’’ said Dora, “I don’t regret all 
that has happened. It was bitter to be away 
from mama and all the dear ones at home; 
and it was hard to mis Holy Communion; 
and I was so afraid of Pete and his wife all 
the time; but it’s all over now. To-morrow, 
please God, I w^ill go to Communion once 
more; and then home, home, home!” 

The child’s eyes shone with joy. They had 
reached the end of the avenue, and turning 
started back. Clarence and John were now in 
the advance. 

“As likely as not,” said Will, holding his 
sister’s hand, “father, on getting the telegram 
tonight, will take the train at once. I’m sure 
he will; and if mother can get away, she will 
come, too. I’ll wire them on the road back to 
Campion. But why, Dora, do you say you’re 
not sorry for all that happened?” 

He paused, as he asked this question, direct- 


190 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


ly before a thick clump of bushes, and, catch- 
ing Dora’s two hands in his, gazed lovingly and 
eagerly into her starry eyes. 

“Because,” answered the girl simply, “I be- 
lieve I have helped to save the soul of dear, 
good, kind Ben. Oh, how happy I was when 
the priest poured the water on him and bap- 
tized him in the name of the F ather and of the 
Son and of the Holy Ghost.” 

Will Benton, still gazing into the eyes of his 
sister, thought he heard proceeding from the 
bushes which he was facing a low, sibilant 
sound. It was not the hiss of a snake; it was 
the hiss of hate. His keen eyes darted from 
Dora’s and peered into the bushes. In a flash 
he threw the girl violently to one side, flinging 
her to the ground, and with a spring crashed 
into the shrubbery. He was not a moment too 
soon. Behind the bushes, an immense boulder 
in his right hand, a man, whose eyes shot hate 
and whose features were demon-like with pas- 
sion, was in the very act of bringing it down 
upon the unsuspecting girl’s head. 

It was not a moment too soon: Ben caught 
the man’s upraised arm and gave it a wrench 
which sent the boulder thudding to the earth. 
That wrenched arm was never to be used 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


191 


again. A howl of pain arose which was stilled 
as suddenly as it began; for, still holding the 
paralysed arm in his grasp, Will Benton struck 
out with his left hand. It was an awful blow. 
Its receiver as it struck him under the jaw lost 
voice, and crumpled to the earth. 

“Oh!” cried Dora, who had arisen, “it’s Pete.” 

Will Benton drew the girl to his side. 

“I know now,” he exclaimed, “why you 
feared him. I saw his face for a second, and 
there was murder in it, murder and hell.” 

The two boys who, hearing the short-hved 
scream of the gypsy, had turned in time to see 
the memorable blow which had brought Pete to 
earth, were gazing in awe at the Prefect of 
the Sodality. It was something to be remem- 
bered. It was a blow which was to go down in 
the traditions of Campion College. For Pete, 
the murderer of Ben, the would-be murderer 
of Dora, never came to face trial. He hngered 
for several weeks. But the blow made trial 
unnecessary. 

“O Will!” cried Jolm Rieler, “how did you 
manage to see him hiding there?” 

“He gave himself away,” answered the 
young giant. “His fury and hatred got the 
better of him. When Dora spoke about Ben’s 


192 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


dying a Catholic and used the name of the 
Father, Son and Holy Ghost, he couldn’t 
stand it. He had his arm raised holding that 
stone, and was just about to bring it down on 
Dora’s head. A hiss escaped him, and I spied 
him while his arm was still moving : and — and 
— I really don’t know how I caught him in 
time.” 

Father Keenan arrived at this juncture; 
and the two boys and Dora all began explain- 
ing at once. Out of the babel he gathered 
that Pete who, after stabbing Ben, took flight 
with his wife and kinsfolk, had returned — as 
murderers sometimes do — to find out the result 
of the stabbing ; how his' hatred goaded him on 
to attempt Dora’s life, and how the brother 
with lightning speed had inflicted with his one 
hand a wrench, and with the other a blow which 
no one who had seen them could ever forget. 

“Dan,” called Father Keenan to the chauf- 
feur, having ascertained that Pete was alive, 
“get busy. Bring Pete to the Sheriff at Lynx- 
ville ; hire another automobile — a large one for 
Dorcas and her children. We are going to 
bring Ben’s body to Prairie du Chien. I shall 
go with them. And come back here as fast as 


CUPID OF CAMPION 193 

you can. We’ll be ready to start long before 
that.” 

The Rector and the chauffeur put the insen- 
sible Pete in the tonneau. 

“One moment, Dan,” said Will Benton, who 
had taken out a pad and written a few lines. 
“If Father Rector has no objection, I’d like 
you to send this telegram to my father.” Then 
he read aloud: “Dora alive, well, and found. 
She is with me. Hurrah ! — ^Will Benton.” 

“Good for you. Will,” said the Rector. 
“Your mind works as well as your fists. Thank 
you, for reminding me.” 

Before the return of the chauffeur, the 
Gypsy camp was dismantled, the tent, con- 
verted into a shroud for Ben, the furniture 
abandoned, and the precious statue placed in 
the hands of Dora, who vowed she would keep 
it as long as she lived. 

Master John Rieler took little hand in these 
preparations for departure. He could not re- 
move his eyes from the giant Prefect of the 
Sodality. Will Benton was considered the 
gentlest boy in attendance at Campion College. 
John was bursting to be back and to tell the 
boys the wonderful blow he had seen with his 
own eyes. 


194 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


The kind Rector gave all his attention to 
Dorcas and her children. He soothed as much 
as was in his power the awful hours when death 
is the family visitant. The machines arrived 
sooner than they were expected. The Rector 
went off first with the sorrowing wife, her chil- 
dren and the dead. 

John still stood staring wide-eyed at Will 
Benton; remained thus while the young man 
assisted his sister into the machine and fol- 
lowed himself. 

“Oh, it is excellent to have a ‘giant’s 
strength,’ ” said Clarence, catching John’s arm. 

Rieler came to from his trance, and smiled 
enthusiastically. “Oh, Crickey!” he answered, 
“you bet it is.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


In which there are a joyful return, a sad 
duty and a picnic, ending with a reu/nion of 
loved ones, 

nn he ride back to Campion College, so far as 
the boys and Dora were concerned, was a 
thing of joy. Dora nestled beside her brother 
and gazed her fill of that splendid young man. 
John Rieler, seated on the other side, took his 
share of the gazing; love was in Dora’s eyes; 
admiration, deep, unspeakable admiration, in 
John’s. Occasionally, he put forth a timid 
hand to feel the muscle of the strong left arm. 

“Will is a southpaw,” he explained to Clar- 
ence, when that watchful youth happened to 
catch him in the act. 

“What does he diet on?” asked Clarence 
seriously. 

But Dora’s admiration was not confined to 
her big brother. She drew from the willing 
lips of Clarence an account of his arrival at 
Campion College. In detailing Rieler’s share 
in the event Clarence waxed so eloquent that 
the young water-rat flushed furiously. 

155 


196 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


In a word, the little party, very soon re- 
solved itself into a highly satisfactory mutual 
admiration society, of which Will Benton, in 
view of his recent exploit, was incontrovertibly 
the uncrowned king. 

“Clarence,” said the giant, “it is owing to 
you that my sister has been found. You have 
put our family under an obligation we shall 
never forget.” 

“If John hadn’t fished me out of the river, 
she’d be with the gypsies yet,” said Clarence. 
“Thank John and not me. 

“And,” said John, “if you hadn’t cranked 
Pete’s hand and struck out with your good left 
arm there wouldn’t be any Dora to save. 
Thank yourself.” 

“It is Dora that has saved me,” said Clar- 
ence. 

“I? How, Clarence?” 

“Well, you got me to thinking right about 
the Catholic Church. I was almost ready to 
join when I left you by the river route. The 
boys at Campion — especially John and Will — 
got me to thinking of it still more. But when 
I heard you as we got near your tent, talking 
to Ben and asking him if he wanted to be bap- 
tized, there seemed to be a sort of explosion 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


197 


in my brain. When it passed away, I was de- 
termined to be a Catholic. All hesitation was 
gone. If that Church doesn’t save my soul, 
nothing can do it.” 

‘‘Say, Clarence,” said Dora with a smile, 
“how about that lawyer?” 

“Lawyer?” 

“Yes: you proposed to adopt me. Can’t we 
find the right man at Prairie du Chien? Clar- 
ence,” exclaimed the child to her brother, “told 
me one day at the gypsy camp that he pro- 
posed to adopt me, because he had no sisters of 
his own.” 

“I’d be dehghted,” broke in Will Benton, 
“to have you as a brother, Clarence: you have 
been in very deed, a brother to my little sister. 
She told me all about your lively scrap with 
Ezra. And I’m sure my father and mother 
would make our home yours.” 

Clarence, thinking of his own dear ones, 
struggled hard to keep down his emotion. His 
lips quivered. 

“O, I beg pardon !” said Will much confused. 
“I forgot.” And in a few words he told Dora 
of the railroad accident. 

“Clarence,” said Dora, “did you pray to our 


198 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


Blessed Mother for the safety of your 
parents ?” 

“Yes;” said Clarence humbly: “I thought 
of what you would do, and so I prayed to her.” 

“I’ll join with you. And to-morrow, Clar- 
ence, I’m going to Communion again. Oh, I 
never felt so happy in all my life. I’m going 
to-morrow.” 

“We’ll all go tomorrow,” added Rieler, “and 
we’ll all pray for your parents.” 

And then the four innocents fell to laughing 
and talking till at length Campion College was 
reached. 

Dora at once demanded a confessor; and 
while John Rieler hastened to do her bidding, 
Clarence and her brother brought her to the 
students’ chapel. For the first time in four 
long, long months, Dora had the privilege of 
visiting the Blessed Sacrament. Presently a 
confessor arrived, the young sinner entered the 
confessional, and came out within a few 
minutes in an almost perceptible aura of peace 
and joy. 

The President, in the meantime, had re- 
turned. He was awaiting them outside. 

“Well,” he said, “everything has been ar- 
ranged. Ben is to be buried at the Bohemian 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


199 


Church tomorrow at seven o’clock. Will Ben- 
ton, you should serve; and you may get John 
Rieler to help you.” 

“Thank you, Father,” cried Will. 

“On Sunday next — the day after — Ben’s 
wife and children will be received into the 
Church. They are now quartered with a friend 
of mine in the lower town.” 

Dora grew happier than ever. 

“I want to be received with them. Father,” 
pleaded Clarence. 

“I can’t grant you that permission, I fear, 
Clarence. Besides, you need instruction.” 

“But I’ve had instruction already — at least,” 
Clarence added, correcting himself, “I’ve had 
some. Dora told me a lot, and I’ve done some 
reading.” 

“And I’ll teach you enough, Clarence, before 
Sunday,” said the girl. 

“Well, we’ll see,” said Father Keenan. 

The group, as this conversation went on, 
was moving slowly towards the concrete walk 
which fronts the entire line of the main Cap- 
pion College buildings. In the meantimes, 
Master John Rieler had been holding spell- 
bound nearly every lad of the Junior division 
with his account of Dora’s rescue, and of Will 


200 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


Benton’s wrench and blow. As the party then 
reached the walk, coincidently with the con- 
clusion of John Rieler’s exciting narrative, the 
small boys, detecting their approach, spread 
out and, keeping at a respectful distance, 
devoured with their eyes Clarence, who swam 
to Campion; Dora, who hved a gypsy life 
four months; and, though his face had been 
familiar enough, the big Prefect of the Sodal- 
ity. It is only fair to state that it was to Will 
Benton that they paid the most respectful 
attention. He was the hero of the hour. The 
Rector — a most unusual thing — was hardly 
considered. 

Dora smiled and waved her hand. 

“Three cheers for the Gypsy Queen,” yelled 
an enthusiast. They were given with wild and 
artless energy. 

“And three cheers for Strong Arm,” piped 
another. The cheers were deafening; Bedlam 
had broken loose. 

“Let’s run,” said Will to Dora. 

The child took him at his word: and the two 
darted along the walk, and tripped up the 
steps of the middle building. 

The Rector with Clarence caught up with 
them shortly. 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


201 


“Dora,” he said, “we have no place for you 
here; but there’s a nice family just north of 
our residence building who’ll keep you as long 
as you’re with us. I’ve sent them word 
already, and they have prepared a fine supper 
— a sort of banquet, for you and Will and 
Clarence and John Rieler.” 

“Did I hear my name?” asked John, just 
then joining the group. 

“Yes, you go to the banquet, too.” 

“Oh,” said John, “this whole thing is like 
taking candy from a child. Say, Clarence,” 
he added in a whisper, “they’ve got a first-class 
cook there, and I am hungry.” 

“I feel that way myself,” admitted Clar- 
ence. 

“I’ll wager,” said the Rector, his eyes twin- 
kling, “that you two are talking about the 
supper.” 

“We just said we were hungry,” explained 
Rieler. 

“For that matter, I’m famishing myself,” 
said the Prefect of the Sodality. 

“And I’m hungry, too,” added Dora. 

“Very good: clear out all of you, and you 
boys will be back in time for night prayers.” 

And away they scampered like children — 


202 CUPID OF CAMPION 

the big fellow, “Strong Arm,” leading in the 
romp. 

* » ^ 

The funeral of the faithful and well-beloved 
Ben was simple and solemn, and the mourners 
fit though few. The Reverend Rector himself 
offered up the holy sacrifice of the Mass. 
Very quietly the simple cortege proceeded to 
the Catholic burying ground; and when the 
last shovelful of earth was thrown on the cof- 
fin Dora stepped forward and laid upon the 
mound the flowers such as Ben once joyed to 
collect and place at the shrine of “that good 
woman who was the Mother of God.” 

They were scarcely outside the graveyard, 
when the Rector addressed them: 

“You have all had too much of tragedy 
these last days for your tender years. Dora 
is a free agent; Clarence is simply our guest; 
they have a right to a holiday. As for you. 
Will, I give you the day in honor of the effi- 
ciency of your strong arm; and you, John, for 
saving Clarence.” 

The long faces shortened ; eyes dimmed with 
tears grew bright. A holiday to the school 
boys! What trouble, what sorrow can hold its 
own against a holiday? 


CUPID OF CAMPION 203 


“I’ve secured a fine motor-boat for you ” 

“I can run a motor all right,” broke in Rieler 
his face deeply gashed by a smile. 

“And I suggest,” continued the Rector, 
“Pictured Rocks and a ride down the river.” 

“Ah-h-h-h!” gurgled Dora. 

“Oh-h-h-h!” cried Clarence. 

“Say — say,” blurted John, “what about our 
breakfast? We’ve just been to Communion, 
you know, all except Clarence, and he hasn’t 
eaten yet.” 

“There are some things, John,” observed the 
Rector, “that you never forget. However, I 
haven’t overlooked that particular item either. 
All you need do is to run down to the Prairie 
du Chien boat landing. You’ll find a man 
there, John Durkin, the boat-owner, who’s 
waiting to see that you get off with everything 
in good order. Then, John, you motor over 
to North McGregor, and bring the party up 
to Mr. Berry’s hotel. He’s heard of your 
wonderful adventures, and you are his break- 
fast guests.” 

“I took a meal there with my pa,” whispered 
the radiant Rieler, when he came up to see me 
last year. I’m glad I’m hungry,” he added 
simply. 


204 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


“I should think, John,’’ observed the Rec- 
tor, ‘‘that you must have that cause for rejoic- 
ing a good many times in the day. After your 
breakfast, you must get together provisions 
enough for a good dinner. The commissary 
department will be in charge of Will Benton. 
Here, Will, area few dollars for that purpose. 
Mr. Berry will help you do the buying.” 

“And I’ll be the cook,” said Dora,' skipping 
about in uncontrollable glee. 

“The only thing left for me,” said Clarence 
with his most radiant smile, “is to be dish- 
washer. I accept.” 

“Hurry away now,” continued the Rector; 
and at the words they were all dashing down 
the street, Dora in the lead. 

“Last one down is a nigger,” yelled Rieler. 

It should not be accounted to the discredit 
of that happy lad that he did not succeed in 
overtaking the fleet-footed Dora. Not for 
nothing had she lived for four months in the 
open. As a matter of fact Dora retained her 
lead — owing, it may be, to the chivalry of Clar- 
ence and Will. Nevertheless, John, despite 
his efforts, was the last, of which fact all were 
careful to remind him till he had succeeded in 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


205 


setting the motor-boat whirling off toward 
North McGregor. 

Of that happy morning, of the breakfast at 
Berry’s hotel, where John Rieler by his exe- 
cution regained the prestige he had lost in the 
race, of the ride down the river, during which 
the hills of Iowa threw back in multiplied 
echoes happy laughter and gleeful shouts, of 
the ascent to the heights above Pictured Rocks, 
where Dora led the way skippingly, and 
paused not for breath till they reached the sum- 
mit; of the lively chatter and flying jest; of 
the tumbles, unnecessary most of them, as they 
went down ; of the wonderful dinner prepared 
— gypsy-wise — by Dora at the gypsy fire set 
going by Clarence ; of the ride down the river 
till they paused and surveyed the very place 
where Clarence’s boat was taken in tow by 
‘‘good dear Ben” — of all these things there is 
a record in the unwritten book of sheer joy. 
There never was a jollier, happier party on the 
broad bosom of the upper Mississippi. A lit- 
tle joke evoked thrills of laughter; a good one, 
an explosion. No pen is adequate to give an 
idea of how these pure, innocent and loving 
hearts laughed and jested and drank deep of 
the unpolluted joy of life. 


206 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


They turned their boats at sunset home- 
ward ; and, as the twilight began to creep from 
its hiding place in the East, Clarence begged 
Dora to sing them a song of her gypsy exile. 

The clear, pure voice — the sweeter, the more 
pathetic, doubtless, for all Dora’s long days 
of suffering — rose and added its beauty to the 
splendors of the dying day. Dora had just 
finished “Mother Dear, O Pray for Me,” and 
at the request of all, was about to begin another 
hymn, when Will Benton cried out: 

“Look: there’s a boat making for us from 
Smith’s Creek. I believe it’s the Campion.” 

“So it is,” cried Rieler, keen of eye. “And 
Father Rector’s in it. And 

Suddenly a scream of joy rang from Dora’s 
throat. 

“Oh! oh!” she cried. It’s mama and papa!” 


CHAPTER XIX 


In which J ohn Rieler fails to finish his great 
speech, and Clarence is seriously frightened, 

HERE were, as the two boats came together, 
shouts and joyous cries and a quick inter- 
change of crews. Dora was in the arms of 
father and mother. Laughter and tears — the 
tears of strong emotion — were intermingled 
with incoherent sobs. Feehngs were beyond 
the power of human language. 

It was then, in the midst of all this, that 
Master John Rieler, filled with an enthusiasm 
which could no longer be bottled up, mounted 
the prow of the boat, of which he had that day 
been the happy engineer, and raising his cap 
aloft, bellowed at the top of his voice: 

“Three cheers for ” But John did not 

finish this splendid sentence, and to this day no 
one knows for whom he intended the signal 
honor; for, happening to wave his cap wildly 
with these opening words, he lost his balance, 
and plumped into the water. 

“Oh!” cried Mr. Benton, pulling off his 
coat. 


207 


208 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


“Stay where you are,” called the grinning 
Rector. “Don’t hurt Rieler’s feelings. To 
go to his help would be less sensible than carry- 
ing coals to Newcastle.” 

John rose just then, and, shaking his locks, 
smiled graciously at the crews of the two boats. 

“We don’t want you,” said the Rector. 

“Thank you. Father,” John made grateful 
answer, and once more sank for a long, deli- 
cious dive. And thus did the youth continue 
to disport himself while hoggings were renewed 
and Babel continued beside him. 

“But, Father,” said Will Benton, “what I 
can’t understand is this ! Dora was lost ; after 
two weeks her body was recovered and she was 
buried in her coffin from our church.” 

“You saw the coffin. Will?” 

“Yes, father.” 

“But did you see Dora in it?” 

“No, father; you told us she was disfigured 
and bloated from being so long in the water; 
and you said we were not to see her.” 

“Exactly. The facts are these: On one 
day, fourteen bodies of the flood- victims were 
recovered. Very soon all were identified 
except that of a girl dressed in a white dress 
with a blue sash. I went to view the body, and 


CUPID OF CAMPION 209 


really couldn’t make up my mind whether it 
was Dora’s, or not. Everybody insisted that 
it must be Dora. In the meantime, your 
mother was so broken-hearted by anxiety that 
it looked as if she would lose her mind. It 
occurred to me that even the recovery of the 
body and the Holy Mass over it would set 
her at rest, so I took the benefit of the doubt, 
and allowed the corpse in white and blue to be 
buried as though it were Dora’s. But mind, 
I never said it was Dora. I allowed the others 
to do that without contradicting them; and 
also my intention in having that Mass offered 
was that if Dora were alive, the Mass should 
go to the poor abandoned child who took her 
place.” 

“Do you see,” said Dora, “how good our 
Blessed Mother is? That little girl because 
she was in blue and white got a Mass and 
Christian burial.” 

“Hey, John Rieler,” called the Rector fif- 
teen minutes later, “haven’t you had enough 
swimming yet?” 

“If it’s all the same to you. Father Rector, 
I’d like to swim home.” John, while disport- 
ing in the water, had taken off his shoes and 


210 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


thoughtfully aimed them at the head of the 
admiring and envious Clarence. 

'‘It isn’t all the same to me,” responded the 
Rector. "Here, give me your hand. Now 
suppose we start.” 

And as they spun homeward, Dora told her 
wondering parents the tale of four months on 
the open road. 

"And,” concluded the child, "when I think 
of dear Ben, who died a saint, and of Dorcas 
and her children, who join the Church 
to-morrow, and of Clarence who is going to 
join ” 

"You bet I am,” Clarence broke in from the 
other boat. 

"I can’t say that I am sorry.” 

"To those who love God all things work 
together unto good,” quoted Father Keenan. 

"And when I recall,” said Mr. Benton catch- 
ing Dora by the arms and beaming with joy 
and gratitude as he looked upon her radiant 
face, "how four months ago, you were pale, 
anaemic, and sentenced by the doctor to death 
within a few months ” 

"What!” gasped Will. 

"Yes; sentenced to death. The doctor said 
the child had no sort of constitution.” 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


211 


‘‘That doctor was loony,” said Rieler indig- 
nantly. “You ought to see her run. Those 
fawns you read about in poetry books haven’t 
anything on her.” 

“I should say not,” added Clarence no less 
indignantly. “You should have seen her skip- 
ping up Pictured Rocks Hill. She never lost 
her wind, never turned a hair, and she’s as 
sure-footed as a chamois.” 

“All the same,” said the happy father, “the 
doctor was right. He was a specialist and 
knew his business. He told me to keep her 
in the open as much as possible ; he told me so 
the very day before the gypsies ran away with 
her. For four months she has lived the life 
the doctor prescribed — and lived it, I rather 
think, more abundantly than had she lived at 
home. Now, look at her. She is the picture of 
health.” 

“She’s the picture of something more than 
health,” whispered Clarence into the ear of her 
big brother. “Do you remember those lines 
of Wordsworth: 

“ ‘And beauty bom of murmuring sound 
Shall pass into her face’ ?” 

“I don’t read much poetry,” admitted Will 
Benton. 


212 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


“Well, IVe often thought of those lines in 
regard to Dora, only I make them read : 

“ ‘And beauty born of heavenly thought 
Hath passed into her face.’ 

Good old Ben said she was an angel. If she 
isn’t she is, as the gentlemanly druggists say, 
‘something just as good.’ ” 

“Beware of imitations,” said John Rieler. 

Whereupon to the manifest discomfort of 
those in the boat, John and Clarence set play- 
fully to punching each other. 

“Well,” sighed Clarence, as he jumped from 
the boat at the Campion landing, “now for a 
quiet hour before going to bed.” 

“Don’t forget supper,” said John. 

“I don’t; but that is a quiet affair.” 

“All the same,” continued John, “I’m going 
to keep near you. If anything happens, I 
want to be around.” 

Then came Dora with her father and mother 
to greet Clarence; and the child, as she intro- 
duced him, made such comments on their short 
but lovely acquaintance as caused Clarence to 
blush to the roots of his hair. 

“Remember, Clarence,” said Mr. Benton, 
“that our home is yours, day or night, winter 


CUPID OF CAMPION 213 


or summer, in any year, in any season. God 
sent you to our little girl.” 

“I think,” said Clarence modestly, “that it 
was the other way around. God sent Dora to 
me. It’s made me — different. Everything I 
see and hear now I see and hear from a differ- 
ent angle — and a better one.” 

As they walked up toward the college, Clar- 
ence, ably assisted by the eager John Rieler, 
pointed out their path of progress toward 
Campton on his first arrival. He was at pains 
to expatiate on John’s delicacy as to introduc- 
ing him personally to the Rector.” 

“It wasn’t so very wrong, anyhow,” said 
Rieler. 

“Didn’t God send me to save Clarence from 
drowning?” 

“Don’t reason that way,” remonstrated Will 
Benton, whose reputation as a student of logic 
was not brilliant only because his prowess on 
the athletic field blinded the boys to what were 
in their eyes less shining qualities, “Out of evil 
God draws good; he took occasion of your 
breaking the rule to save Clarence’s life.” 

“I’m beginning,” said Clarence solemnly, “to 
lose all faith in the bright-eyed goddess of 
adventure. As Betsy Prigg said of Sairey 


214 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


Gamp’s Mrs. Harris, I don’t believe there 
ain’t no sich a person.” 

“What are you talking about now?” asked 
Rieler. “Who’s Betsy Prigg? Who’s Sairey 
Gamp? Who’s Mrs. Harris? The bright- 
eyed goddess has gone to your head, and placed 
a few bats in your belfry.” 

“John Rieler,” said Clarence, “at your age 
you ought to be ashamed of yourself. You 
ought to know your Dickens. Read Martin 
Chuzzlewit, and start tonight. 

“No,” continued Clarence, “I disavow here 
and now, forever and forever, the squint-eyed 
goddess of adventure. I thought I was in her 
hands ; but now I firmly believe that all along I 
was in the loving hands of God.” 

Father Keenan, who had preceded the party, 
was now seen coming down the steps of the 
faculty building. He was doing his best to 
carry off his Indian immobility of face, but 
with partial success. 

“Clarence,” he cried, ^‘come here.” 

“Another adventure,” said Rieler. 

Clarence turned deathly pale. Something 
had happened — something serious. 

“Oh, Father, what is it?” he cried running 
to the side of the Rector. 


CHAPTER XX 


In which there is another joyful reunion, and 
Clarence presents an important letter to the 
Rector of Campion College, 

“/^LARENCE,” said Father Keenan, “there’s 
good news.” 

“Oh, what is it? Were their lives saved? 
Were they unhurt?” 

“Just forty miles to the East of the accident 
your father received a telegram. It seems 
there was some mining trouble in the South- 
west, and he was ordered to go there at once. 
Both your father and mother got off at a 
junction and so missed the accident.” 

“Oh, thank God! thank God! And when 
shall I see them?” 

“Very soon, Clarence. On the very day 
you arrived here, I sent telegrams to different 
cities, and had advertisements inserted in the 
most prominent papers in New York, Chicago, 
Philadelphia, Cleveland and Cincinnati. The 
ads. read something like this: Any friends or 
relations of Clarence Esmond falsely reported 
drowned are requested to write or call upon 

215 


216 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


the President of Campion College, Prairie du 
Chien, Wis.” 

“Did you really do that, Father?” 

“Yes, my boy,” answered the Rector, as the 
two went up the steps and proceeded in the 
direction of the infirmary. “And it seems that 
in New York a member of the firm that sent 
the telegram to your father read the ad. He 
at once wired your parents — and — and — ” the 
Rector paused. 

They were standing just outside the parlor, 
from which came the soimd of voices. 

‘'Theyre here! They’re here?” cried Clarence, 
and burst into the parlor. 

Father George Keenan considerately waited 
outside until the first rapture of reunion should 
have died away ; waited and thought with grat- 
itude to God of his part in a romance of the 
upper Mississippi, a romance of childhood and 
innocence, and the sure, guiding hand of Divine 
Providence. 

The parlor door opened presently, and Clar- 
ence came out. 

“Oh, Father Rector, won’t you please come 
in? Say, Pa, this is the priest who fed me 
when I was hungry, clothed me when I was 
naked, took me in when I was abandoned, and 


CUPID OF CAMPION 217 

treated me as if I was a prince in disguise. 
Say, Ma, look at him and thank him, if you 
can. I can’t.” And Clarence blubbered. 

“Father Keenan,” said Mr. Esmond with 
quivering lips, “if I should think of trying 
to thank you, I should become absolutely 
dumb. I am helpless; and to think that you 
should be the member of an Order IVe been 
abusing all my life.” 

Mrs. Esmond, in turn, took the dismayed 
Father’s hand, and tried to speak. She failed; 
but her eyes spoke the gratitude her tongue 
could not utter. 

“Don’t — don’t mention it,” said Father 
Keenan lamely and with a vivid blush. “I’m 
happier than I can say to have done anything 
for as fine and as gifted a boy as I have ever 
met.” 

There came an awkward silence. The Rec- 
tor was confused beyond measure; Mrs. Es- 
mond had gathered her boy to her arms, and 
was fondling him as she had done when he was 
a little child. Mr. Esmond was endeavoring 
with but ill success to master his burst of 
emotion. 

“Say, Pa,” cried Clarence, breaking away in 
excitement. “There’s one thing I want to 


218 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


say right off. You said I might choose my 
religion when I was fourteen. Well, I’ve 
chosen. I want to be a Catholic.” 

“Certainly, my boy, certainly. I never 
thought of your joining that Faith; but you’ll 
be in good company.” 

“And, Father Rector, may I be baptized?” 

“Of course, Clarence, since your father so 
kindly consents. 

“And, Father, will you do it?” 

“Gladly, Clarence.” 

“Good! thank you. Come on,” and Clar- 
ence seized his hat. 

“But what’s your hurry, Clarence?” asked 
Father Keenan, laying a detaining hand upon 
the eager neophyte. 

“Isn’t this rather sudden, my boy?” inquired 
Mr. Esmond. 

“It’s not at all sudden,” Clarence made 
answer. “I’ve been thinking about this and 
preparing for this ever since I met Dora. Do 
you think I want to go to bed to-night with 
original sin and all my life’s wickedness on my 
soul when I’ can get it off in a few minutes? 
Of course, I’m in a hurry.” 

“Put your hat down, Clarence,” ordered the 
Rector. “But I promise you this: you’ll be 


CUPID OF CAMPION 219 


baptized and made a child of God and heir of 
heaven before you go to bed tonight. And 
now, Mr. and Mrs. Esmond, I want you to 
come out and meet Dora, who did so much 
for Clarence and whom Clarence saved from 
the gypsies ; John Rieler, who rescued Clarence 
from the river; and Dora’s parents and big 
brother. For the next hour, we are going to 
hold a symposium. Clarence will tell his story 
from the time he left McGregor till he took to 
the river; John Rieler will take up the theme 
and tell how he came to make Clarence’s 
acquaintance; I, myself, will describe the boy’s 
first appearance at Campion, and with the help 
of Will Benton will tell the tale of our visit to 
the gypsy cam.p and rescue of Dora.” 

As everybody following hard upon intro- 
duction insisted upon talking at once. Father 
Keenan experienced no little difficulty in car- 
rying out the proposed program. It was fully 
an hour before the story — the strange romance 
of the upper Mississippi — was clearly unfolded 
to the wondering grown folks. 

“I say,’’ urged Clarence, when the various 
adventures had been adequately commented 
on, “isn’t it time for me to be baptized?” 

“Oh,” said Dora. “Is it all arranged?” 


220 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


“Yes, Dora.” 

“And — and — may I be your godmother?” 

“Delighted!” cried the boy. “Nothing could 
please me better.” 

“You ought to know,” observed John Rieler, 
“that the Church has erected an impediment 
between godmother and godson. If you carry 
out that program, you two can never marry.” 

“Marry!” cried Dora, “I’m not to marry. 
I’m to dedicate my life to Mary.” 

“Marry!” remonstrated Clarence. “Who 
ever thought of such a thing? Dora and I 
don’t intend to discuss that subject ourselves; 
and we don’t” — here he looked severely at 
John — “care about hearing anyone else dis- 
cuss it.” 

“All right, Clarence,” said John, “if that’s 
the case I want to be godfather.” 

After supper, Clarence, alone, went to the 
boys’ chapel, where for fifteen minutes he 
prayed and recalled in sorrow all the sins of his 
life. Then came Dora, John, Will and the 
two married couples followed by Father 
Keenan; and in the quiet of the evening Clar- 
ence Esmond filled with faith and love received 
upon his brow the regenerating waters of bap- 


CUPID OF CAMPION 221 

tism and became a faithful child of the true 
Church. 

On the next morning the three children and 
Will Benton attended the six o’clock Mass and 
together received Holy Communion. 

Clarence frequently during that day pro- 
nounced it the happiest day of his life. 

On Sunday evening Clarence, who had 
passed most of the time with his parents, en- 
tered Father Keenan’s room. 

“Why, Clarence! How happy you look.” 

“That’s because I’m a hypocrite. Father.” 

“Surely, you haven’t come to bid me good- 
bye?” 

“Oh, I should hope not. Father.” Here 
Clarence fumbled in his pocket. “This is a 
letter my Pa gave me to bring to you.” 

“So you were godfather for Dorcas and her 
children!” 

“Yes, Father Rector, and Dora was god- 
mother. Pa says it was awful good of you to 
pay the expenses of Ben’s burial and to pay 
for the board of Dorcas and her little ones; 
but he’s going to do the rest. He has an inter- 
est in the ranch in the Southwest, and they 
need a woman to feed the men and keep the 
house. Dorcas gets the position.” 


222 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


'‘Can she hold it?” asked the Rector. 

“Oh, yes! Dora says that Dorcas cooks 
nicely and is fine at the needle, and is very 
neat.” 

“I hope she’ll have a chance to go to 
church,” continued Father Keenan. 

“There’s a church ten miles from the ranch; 
and the foreman is a good Catholic. He is to 
bring Dorcas every Sunday.” 

“Excellent,” said the Rector. 

“And did you hear about Pete?” asked Clar- 
ence. 

“No; how is he?” 

“Pa just got word. It took him thirty-six 
hours to recover from the blow that Will Ben- 
ton gave him. He was unconscious all that 
time.” 

“Let us hope and pray that God may bring 
him to repentance,” said the Rector. 

“The jail doctor says he’ll never do harm 
again. And, Father, to-morrow Dorcas goes 
to Communion; then she’s coming up to bid 
you good-bye, and then off she starts to her 
new work.” 

“Thank God,” said Father Keenan. “And 
now, Clarence, sit down while I read your 
father’s letter.” 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


223 


And this is what Father Keenan read: 

‘‘My dear Father Keenan: I am trying 
to write what I have found it impossible to say. 
To borrow the language of my little boy — 
who, I believe, borrowed from the words of 
Christ in the New Testament — Clarence was 
hungry and you fed him, naked and you 
clothed him, and outcast and you took him in. 
He was sorrowful and you consoled him; 
orphaned, and, at the sacrifice of your precious 
time, you took the place of father and mother. 
He needed, too, someone to take hold of his 
complicated situation and you by telegram, 
telephone, letter and in every conceivable way 
unravelled the tangle within a few hours ; and 
in doing so brought gladness to sad and suf- 
fering hearts ; in a few hours, you effected the 
rescue of his dear little girl friend; and, when 
we arrived, had everything in the finest condi- 
tion imaginable and everybody happy. In all 
this you were aided and abetted by that little 
saint, Dora — the most wonderful girl I have 
ever met — by John Rieler, that paragon of 
good-nature who saved my boy’s life; and by 
that prince of young men. Strong Arm Ben- 
ton, which quick performance at the gypsy 


224 


CUPID OF CA3IPION 


camp will never be forgotten by those who 
hear it told. 

“To have my boy the intimate of Will, Dora 
and Rieler — the most wonderful trio one could 
bring together — I esteem a rare privilege and 
an honor. Their friendship is touched with 
youth, and purity and faith. 

“You will be glad to know. Reverend Father, 
that, in my opinion, Clarence is not altogether 
unworthy of such splendid companions. At 
Clermont School in New York, where he 
attended for three years, he maintained a repu- 
tation for cleanness of speech and delicacy of 
conduct, which, among the faculty, made him 
a marked boy. He was the center of a group 
— some seven or eight in number — who had 
professed and followed out lofty and lovely 
ideals. God, I know not why, has been singu- 
larly good to my boy, and kept him from dan- 
gers to morals only too common in these 
pagan days. 

“The duty of thanking you, of showing you 
my gratitude, will be with me, I trust, a life 
task. I can never forget how when my little 
boy — a veritable Dan Cupid up to date — 
arrived you took him in hand. 

“His entrance into the Church pleases me 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


225 


more, the more I think of it. When his mother 
gave up hope of ever seeing Clarence again, 
it seemed for a time as though she would lose 
her mind. She insisted that Clarence had been 
taken from her untimely because she had not 
lived up to the Catholic Faith, in which, as a 
child, she was baptized. It was in vain that 
I pointed out to her that she had not been 
brought up a Catholic, that she was raised a 
Protestant ; that she had been in no way 
responsible. She would not be consoled. 
Finally, with my full approbation, she prom- 
ised God that should Clarence be returned to 
us, she would once more embrac ethe Faith of 
her fathers. She intends to go to confession 
and receive Holy Communion before we bid 
an unwilling adieu to Campion. She has 
already called at St. Mary’s Academy and 
engaged a splendid nun there to give her a 
course of instructions. 

“In a short time — by Christmas at the latest 
— I am going to join the Church that received 
Ben and Dorcas with the same arms of wel- 
come as it receives the princes and potentates 
of the earth. This, my fixed determination, 
is sudden; but for all that, it is none the less 
firm. It came to me last night, as I watched 


226 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


the radiant Dora and the reverent J ohn hold- 
ing my boy, whose face was aflame with zeal 
and faith as you, Father, poured the water of 
baptism upon his head. 

“And now. Father, IVe been thinking much 
of what you did for my boy. There must be 
other cases like his — cases of boys being thrown 
upon you — not coming in the guise of Cupid, 
it is true — but coming to you asking for edu- 
cation, board and books; but without money. 
In memory, then, of your kindness to my lit- 
tle boy, I enclose you a check for flve thousand 
dollars as a fund for a perpetual scholarship 
to carry year after year through Campion Col- 
lege some boy whom God has given brains and 
ambition, but denied money. And if God con- 
tinues to bless me in my enterprises, this will 
not be the end, by any means, of my help in 
that same line. 

“And now, one more matter of business. 
Clarence is bent on going to Campion College. 
He loves the grounds, the buildings, the boys, 
and, so far as he knows them, the faculty. His 
mother and I are almost as anxious that he 
should attend your school as he is. We intend 
to stay here for a week or ten days to get bet- 
ter acquainted with our dear little boy — dearer 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


227 


a thousandfold that, having been lost, he is 
found. We, therefore, beg of you, Father, 
as a special favor, to register the boy at once; 
but to allow us his company till we leave. His 
board and tuition expenses are to begin, of 
course, from the opening day of school — two 
weeks back. Before leaving, I will make you 
a check to cover his expenses for the entire 
year. 

“This is the longest letter I have written 
since the time I was engaged to her who is now 
my wife. It is long because I have been 
endeavoring, with poor success, to express my 
gratitude. But the task is beyond me. 
Beyond me, too, is it to express the present 
happiness of my wife, of Clarence, of Dora 
and of 

“Yours with a heart full of gratitude, 
“Charles Esmond.” 


CHAPTER XXI 


In which everybody is happy. Will Benton 
is jocose, and justifies the title of this Romance 
of the Upper Mississippi. 

O OME few minutes later, Will Benton, who 
^ had been summoned, and Clarence were 
seated in the Rector’s room. To the two 
Father Keenan read first the letter of Wilcox. 

“He was a good fellow,” said Will. “I like 
people who are grateful.” 

“It was this gift of one hundred dollars,” 
said Father Keenan, “which made it so easy 
for me to fit you up, Clarence, and to see that 
Ben received decent interment. But now lis- 
ten to this.” 

And Father Keenan read the letter of Mr. 
Charles Esmond. 

When he came to the passage describing 
Clarence as a “veritable Dan Cupid up to 
date,” Will Benton roared with laughter. 

“Why, what’s the matter. Will?” asked the 
. Rector. 

“Did you hear it? He’s Cupid. Oh, good- 
ness, that’s the best yet. Clarence, you’re 
228 


CUPID OF CAMPION 229 


Cupid.” And Will Benton laughed more 
heartily than ever. 

“It isn’t such a bad joke,” said Clarence 
critically. 

The Rector then read on to the end. 

“Say,” cried Clarence, “I like that. You 
do a httle kindness to a poor boy, and after 
many years he sends you money to do some 
more kindness to other boys. You try it out 
on me, and then my father gets the same idea 
and wants you to try it out on somebody else.” 

“Kindness is catching,” said Will Benton, 
the kindest boy in Campion College. 

“ ‘Our echoes roll from soul to soul,’ ” quoted 
Clarence, “and grow forever and forever.’ ” 

“The next thing for you to do, Clarence, is 
to go over to the Vice-President’s room and 
register. Will Benton will take you, and then 
he’ll bring you over to the small boys and let 
them know you are one of them. After that 
you are free to go with your parents so long 
as they remain.” 

“Thank you, Father; I’ve got everything 
in the world I want, and I’m as happy as a 
big sunflower.” 

On their way to the class-room building 
there was quite a perceptible stir among the 


230 


CUFIB OF CAMPION 


boys, numbers of whom eyed the two with art- 
less interest. 

“What’s the matter with those boys?” asked 
Clarence. “What are they staring about?” 

“I really think,” answered Will Benton, 
“that they’re staring at me. J ohn Rieler 
made such a fus about the knockout I gave 
Pete that he’s got all the litle boys crazy. 
Even a lot of the big boys are stirred up about 
it. I’ve been keeping to my room as much as 
possible these few days, because I don’t like 
people to be making a fuss over me.” 

“Say, Will, is this true? I heard that since 
the fellows heard what you did to Pete ten 
boys of the senior division have at last asked 
to join the Sodality, when they wouldn’t do 
it before.” 

“They’d have come in anyhow,” he said. 

The Vice-President was in his room, and 
promptly registered the happy Clarence. 
Then, Will Benton, very nervous, conducted 
Clarence over to the small boy’s division. 

At his coming, there was great excitement. 
The boys came flocking towards the two, and, 
in a moment, had them surrounded. 

“Look at his arm” — “Isn’t that a chest for 
you” — “His Southpaw dished the gypsy for 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


231 


thirty-six hours” — “He did it just like that” — 
“That’s Strong-Arm for you.” These and a 
thousand exclamations evinced clearly that 
Will Benton was still the hero of the hour. 

Will blushed. He was frightened. 

“Speech, Strong-Arm, speech,” cried a 
shrill-voiced youth. 

“Speech, speech,” volleyed the others. 

And then Will Benton, Strong-arm, Senior, 
and Prefect of the Sodality, made his maiden 
speech, and cracked his first and only joke. 
Like most people who are immensely popu- 
lar, Will Benton was not given to joking. He 
was always smihng, always jolly, always 
quick to laugh at other’s witticisms. But as 
for himself, he was literal, matter of fact, and 
serenely serious. 

And the joke he got off on this occasion was 
really such a little joke. It wasn’t even origi- 
nal. But the boys who heard it doubled with 
laughter, and howled with delight. They 
thought it was the finest joke they had ever 
heard. Most of them continue to think so. 
They repeated it to each other, and wrote 
home about it. They made it a classic in Cam- 
pion College, in such wise that it promises to 
go down to posterity along with the wrench 


232 


CUPID OF CAMPION 


and the blow which made Will Benton famous 
and immortal. On this one joke, Will Ben- 
ton’s reputation as a humorist will live. 

Here are the speech and joke: 

“Boys,” he said, holding up his hands. 

All grew silent and eager. 

“Permit me to introduce a new student.” 

Cheers and joyous yelps split the astounded 
air for full three minutes. Will Benton held 
up his hand once more. 

Again fell the expectant silence. 

“Here he is,” cried Benton, his face break- 
ing into smiles, “CUPID OF CAMPION 
COLLEGE.” 

The End. 


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Catalogue of Latin and Liturgical Books. 

A copy of “Catholic Books in English,” now in print in America 
and Europe, will be sent on receipt of SO cents. Bound in cloth, 
it contains over 5000 titles and over 300 illustrations of authors. 
Supplements will be issued from time to time to make the catalogue 
as complete as possible, and these will be furnished free of charge 
to those ordering “Catholic Books in English.” 

We shall be glad to send, on request, our “Catholic Book News,” 
published eight times a year. Gives a complete record of all new 
Oitholic booits published in English. 


BENZIGER’S MAGAZINE 

THE POPULAR CATHOLIC FAMILY MONTHLY 

The best stories and articles — 1000 illustrations a year 
Recommended by 70 Archbishops and Bishops of the United States 
Subscription, $2^ a year. Three years, $5.00 
WHAT BENZIGER’S MAGAZINE GIVES ITS READERS IN A YEAR: 
Several complete Novels of absorbing interest, Fifty to sixty comi^ete stories 
by the best writers One thousand beautiful illustrations. Twelve double- 
page reproductions of celebrated paintings. Twenty articles on travd and 
adventure; on the manners, customs and home life of peoples; on the haunts 
and habits of animals. Twenty articles on our country, historic events, times, 
places; important industries. Fashions, fads and fancies, gathered at h«Mne 
and abroad; helpful hints for home workers, household column, cooking 
recipes, etc. Current events: the important happenings of the whole world 
described with pen and pictures. "Question Box,’’ one of our most popular 
features. Science Notes, Book Reviews, The Calendar, etc. 


MY PRAYER-BOOK 

HAPPINESS IN GOODNESS 

Reflections, Counsds, Prayers, and Devotions. With Marriage Mass 

By REV. F. X. LASANCE 

702 pages. Size, 5 ^4 inches. Printed on thin but opaque paper 
The Most Popular Prayer-Book in English 
AH leather bindings have roimd corners and gold edges 


Imitation Leather, round comers, red edges $1.25 

Imitation Leather, gold edges 1.50 


American Seal, limp, $1.75; Embossed French Calf, $1.^; German Mo- 
rocco, limp, $2.00. Complete list erf bindings mailed on application. 


THE NEW MISSAL 

In English. For Every Day in the Year 
According to the Latest Decrees. With Introduction, Notes, and a 

BOOK OF PRAYER 

By REV. F. X. LASANCE 

1252 pages. Oblong 24mo. Size, 6x3^ inches 
The correct text, the smooth, idiomatic translation, the many valuable 
special features, the dear type, the fine India paper, so thin but opaque, and 
the flexitrfe binding, place this Missal far in advance of any other. 


Imitation Leather, round comers, red edges $1.50 

Imitation Leather, round corners, gold edges 1.75 


American Seal, limp, $2.00; American Seal, limp, $2.25; French Morocco, 
limp, $2.50. Complete list of bindings mailed on application. 

BENZIGER BROTHERS 

NEW YORK CINCINNATI CHICAGO 

36-38 Barclay St. 343 Main St. 214-216 W. Monroe St. 













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